Let the Waters Roar
by Dark Rose of Heaven
Summary: [JackOC] On their return to the Galapagos, those aboard the HMS Surprise will find more than wildlife in the deserted islands... but will they get there with a French privateer on their tail? [Based on the movie!]
1. Prologue

Hello! Dark Rose here, for my... er... third, I think, story on this site, and my first in this category. This one will be a little different from my others - done in little mini-chapters called vignettes; I will try to post one a day. Wish me luck:)

Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I don't own anyone in this vignette. :(

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LET THE WATERS ROAR**

**Vignette 1**

**The Chase Begins Again**

"**Killick!** Killick there…"

"Which it wi' be ready when 'tis ready!"

Stephen Maturin suppressed a smile at the reply HMS Surprise's ornery cook as he ruffled through the maps of the Galapagos. Killick, unlike Jack and himself, was not fond of classical music.

"I'll rest easier when I know they've reached shore," Stephen said, setting the maps aside and picking up his cello. "So many wounded…"

Jack glanced up at him, plucking the strings of his violin experimentally to tune the instrument while he waited for his friend to continue.

"…and only that poor, unfortunate Higgins to tend to them." The doctor sighed and reached for his wineglass. "Still, he's better than no doctor at all."

Jack's fingers stilled as he stared at Stephen, his eyes showing confusion. "I met their doctor," he said. "I spoke to him."

Stephen frowned at the captain. "No, he did of fever months ago."

Jack's hands froze on the strings yet again. "Le Vigny?"

Stephen grunted in acknowledgement. Jack's eyes narrowed, and with sudden vigor he slammed his cleaning rag on the table and stood. Stephen pursed him lips. "Ah."

Jack opened the door. "Pass the word for Mr. Mowett."

"Aye, sir," Killick replied. His voice could be heard echoing up through the ship. "Mr. Mowett to the great cabin!"

"Their 'doctor'," Jack said tightly as he made his way back across the cabin, "gave me this sword."

There were footsteps at the door, and Mr. Mowett appeared. "Sir."

"Mr. Mowett, change of course. Southeast by east. We'll intercept the Acheron, and we'll escort them into Valparaiso."

Mr. Mowett blinked, uncertain. "Ah…aye, sir." He nodded, as if confirming the information to himself. "Sou'east by east." He turned to go.

"And William…"

"Sir?"

"Beat to quarters."

"Very good sir." This time, confusion showed plainly on his face as he left the room.

Stephen raised his eyebrows and swallowed meaningfully, picking up the maps again. "'Subject to the requirements of the service'," he said with a small knowing smile, setting the papers back down again. Jack followed his friend's movements with his eyes.

"Ah." Jack raised an eyebrow in the other's direction. "Well, Stephen… the bird's flightless?"

"Yes."

Humor flickered into life behind the captain's solemn face. "It's not going anywhere." His mouth gave in, and he grinned as he picked up his violin and began to strum.

Stephen gave a wry smile and straightened his cello resignedly. Counting the measures, he set bow to string and began to play. In the background, they heard the drums beating to quarters, and rushed footsteps of nearly a hundred men rushing to obey the call. Biting his lip to hide his amusement, Stephen hiked his cello up on his lap and joined Jack's strumming. In turn, the captain reached for his bow, and they switched parts.

So began the chase. Again.

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Short, I know. And of course known by everyone already, since I basically just copied the movie. Bear with me!

-Dark Rose


	2. Stephen's Plea

Thank you very much WhiteAngel78 for your review!!! I wasn't expecting anything so soon. I therefore dedicate this chapter to you. :) Enjoy.

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**1**

**Stephen's Plea**

_July the third, 1805_

_London, England._

_Diary,_

_It is cold and wet outside, as usual. Never have I so despised London as much as I have these past weeks. Ever since I got Stephen's letter, sent from Valparaiso not half a week ago, I have been ever anxious to see him again. I know that that letter is the last I shall hear of him until he reaches London with his commission, the _HMS Surprise_, and that knowledge causes me to take turns between pacing upstairs and downstairs, looking out the window every five minutes, and reading his letter. I shall copy it down here to preserve its memory._

My Dearest Sister:

I write to you from Valparaiso, where the _Surprise_ is now docked. After a long and wearisome chase around the Horn, Captain Aubrey took the _Acheron_ a prize and we then – after some misunderstanding with the French captain – escorted her to that port. The Frenchmen we captured were put into custody there and will be shipped to England for trial on a different ship. Meanwhile, we will rest and take on provisions before attempting the return home. Our arrival there will be soon, I hope.

Unfortunately, although we stopped briefly at the Galapagos Islands, we were unable to remain there long, and so my good friend the Captain has promised that we will return as soon as it is possible. I am going to ask him if you may come as well for I know, dear Fern, that you enjoy the natural environment as well as I. Chin up, my dear! I will be home soon, and after our trip to the Galapagos, we will return to sweet Ireland where we belong. All my love, Stephen.

_That is all I will write for today. It is late, and Sarah insists I get to bed.

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_July the eighth, 1805_

_London, England_

_Stephen has come home at last! It was very exciting. I was taking a stroll along St. Johanna's Avenue with Sarah…_

"Beautiful day, Miss Fern," Sarah said for the fifth time. "Absolutely lovely."

I observed the heavy clouds above me and smiled. "Yes indeed, Sarah. It is a beautiful day. If only Stephen were here to share it with me." I said this on purpose; I knew Sarah was trying to keep my mind off it. But it was no use – until I saw him, alive and well, leaning against the fireplace in the parlor as he lectured me on the anatomy of the Hungarian Man-Eating Beetle, I would not be content. A call from behind us broke my thoughts.

"Sarah! Miss Fern!" It was Joey, the scullery lad. "Come quick; the doctor's jus' got in from Valparaiso! An' he's got the _captain_ with 'im!"

I stiffened, every particle of my being screaming out _run to him!_ But I couldn't – especially not with poor Sarah fanning herself and exclaiming, "Oh dear oh dear oh _dear!"_ over and over again.

"Calm down Sarah," I said. The detachedness of my voice surprised me. How was it possible to sound so reserved when one's brother was returning home after months at sea?

"_Oh_," Sarah wailed, in her infinite silliness. "I _am_ certain I don't know what to do!"

"Come, let us go!" I cried, wondering how a woman could be so silly. So, taking her hand in mine, I half-dragged her down the walkway towards our rented apartments in Cheapside with Joey jogging behind us. As we neared the house, we could see the cook, Evangeline, standing on the porch looking out for us. When she caught sight of our progress, she waved, nearly bouncing up and down for excitement. Unconsciously I quickened my pace, soon leaving poor Sarah huffing and puffing behind me. My hand barely grazed the railing as I took the steps two at a time.

"Th' Master be in th' parlor with th' captain, Miss Fern, waitin' for ye t'rrive. Tea's nearly ready, Miss," Evangeline gasped in one breath as she unpinned the empty sleeve of my coat and slid the entire garment off my shoulders.

"Sarah, be a dear and announce Miss Fern, please," Jennings – the butler – added as he took over Evangeline's chattering work.

"Of course, of course…" Attempting to compose herself all the while, Sarah led the way to the parlor. Within could be heard two voices: one an unknown gentleman, and the other my brother's! So anxious was I to see Stephen that I barely gave Sarah time to say my name before I dashed into the room and flung myself into my brother's arms.

Contrary to my expectations, however, he did not pick me up and swing me around, but suppressed a pained gasp and did not return my embrace. I fell back, immediately docile.

"Stephen, what's wrong? Did I hurt you?"

"It's nothing you did, my dear. But never mind that now…" His voice broke as we clung to one another yet again, and he fell silent.

There was a gentle "ahem" from the area of the window, and Stephen broke out embrace apologetically. "Forgive me, Fern. I have been remiss. This is my dear friend who you may remember from your childhood: Captain Jack Aubrey of the _HMS Surprise…_" and he turned me to face the window that looked down over the street.

It was so bright outside, and so dim within, that all I could make out was a tall, commanding masculine shape. Nevertheless, I curtsied minutely as was polite and held out my hand. There was the slightest moment of awkward hesitation as his right hand took my left hand instead of the right he should have been able to take, and then it passed and he lifted my knuckles to his sea-weathered lips as courteously as though I had had two arms instead of one. I was quite touched, I confess; most men, once recognizing my disability, would shake my hand as briefly as possible before stepping back.

"Jack," Stephen continued, "this is my sister, Fernanda…"

"_Fern_," I interrupted forcibly.

"Fern, then," my brother sighed with a teasing roll of his hazel eyes as he removed his spectacles and polished them on his outer coat.

"I am very pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss _Fern_," the captain said pointedly. My eyes were beginning to adjust to the sharp contrast between light and dark, and I saw the corners of a kind mouth twitch and ocean-gray eyes twinkle in humor.

"And I yours, sir," I replied as he released my hand. "I remember you but little, I fear."

"Then we are even, for I confess you are not the small child I used to know so many year ago," he replied with a warm smile. I nearly leapt out of my skin to hear his voice – a slightly roughened baritone, low, with the sound of the sighing ocean beneath its resonance, as one hears when one lifts a shell to their ear.

Tea came presently, and I was obliged to serve and entertain before taking Stephen insisted I go and rest. I wasn't too dismayed upon hearing this – since receiving his letter, I had gotten little sleep. However, I was loathe to be unconscious while my brother was in the house, and so I compromised by going to the music room to practice my harp. It was one of the few instruments I could play, given my disability.

Sitting at the beautiful work of art that Stephen had given me three years ago as a birthday present, I ruffled the music on the stand at my side and prepared to tune the strings. Then, through the opening that had once been a fireplace but was now a small hole in the wall through which heat came from the fire below, I heard voices. I had forgotten that sound carries well when one is near the fireplace below.

"You have to help me, Jack. I don't have enough to keep the butler or the cook anymore; I'm releasing them tomorrow. As for Sarah, I'm barely hanging on to her, and Sarah absolutely _must_ stay. Fern needs her."

I inhaled sharply, and leaned closer to the barren fireplace to hear better; the harp was, for the moment, forgotten.

"You know I'll do anything that is necessary," came the oceanic voice of the captain. "Lord knows His Majesty continues to pour the nation's taxes into the Navy's funds as long as the war goes on." There was a pause. "Or did you have something else in mind?"

"I… well, yes and no."

"Come, man! Speak plainly."

"It's Fern –"

"No."

"No?"

"I resolved when I joined His Majesty's Navy that I would never take a wife." Here I gulped and nearly fell of my chair. "Remember Will?"

"Warley… yes."

"I will _not_ have any woman suffer what Mrs. Warley suffered. When I bore the news to her personally…" There was a break in his voice, and the sound of pacing upon the carpet. "It was beyond anything – any grief, any sorrow, any pain – that I have ever seen in all my days, Stephen. Please do not make me do this. To see a girl like your sister suffering widowhood – she's too young, Stephen. I will give you all the money you require and more as long as you don't plead with me to make her my wife."

"Her lack of an arm does not put you off?"

"Lord, no! She's a sweet girl, Stephen. You're lucky to have her. I wish my sister was as well-tempered."

"Sophie?" Stephen chuckled slightly. "Indeed…"

I moved away from the fireplace and forced myself, however woodenly, to play the beautifully flowing music that was revealed on the page before me. I could not think of the discussion I had overheard... I _could _not...

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And there it is. I hope it meets your expectations. :-)

-Dark Rose of Heaven


	3. A Walk in the Garden

Let the Waters Roar

**2**

**A Walk in the Garden**

_July the ninth, 1805_

_London, England_

_When I woke up this morning, I was very disoriented. I had little memory of what had happened the day before. Had Stephen's coming been all a dream, I wondered. Would I spend this day as I had all the others: pacing and watching the front of the house for a carriage that would open on my brother's cheerful face? Feeling very unstable, I called for Sarah…_

"Sarah…?" My voice was shy, tentative. Aggravated at my weakness, I got out of bed and found my clothes laid out at the foot of my bed. A note was attached to the bottom of a petticoat with the pin that usually held up my empty sleeve. Sitting beside the laid-out clothes, I unpinned the note and held it up to the light from the window.

_Dearest Fern-_

_I regret to say that my mother is quite ill. I am going to her tonight. I am sorry to leave, but Master Maturin assures me all will be well. Smile at the captain for me!_

_All my affection, &. Sarah_

"Her mother?" I said aloud. I reached for old memories, and suddenly all the pieces fell into place. Sarah's mother was long dead; I remembered that much at least. She had not made a big fuss of it, as I had been only eight, and made easily gloomy. No, she had been dismissed, because Stephen no longer had the money to pay her. But what of the cook? I knew full well that Stephen was hopeless in the kitchen…

Suddenly resolved, I observed the clock that hung on the far wall. Only six-thirty. I must have slept well indeed! I then dressed myself with the ease that came from a lifetime of practice. When one was born without an arm, one did not have to learn to adjust to not having two! At last I managed to tie the pale rose sash around my waist and put it in an extravagant bow in back. As I had never learned to do my hair – only one among very few things I could not do myself – I had to settle for brushing it out and letting my light gold-brown tresses hang loose to my waist. Fondly, I picked up the shawl Sarah had made for me when I turned fifteen – three years ago now. I sighed, fingering the soft weave. Sarah had been a master with needle and thread, whether it be thick as yarn or slender as fishing line.

"But enough of that," I told myself briskly. "Time to look into the matters of the household." And so, holding the shawl to me with my hand, I left my room and walked gently down the stairs so as not to wake Stephen, or our guest. I think all doctors must be light sleepers, so as to care for emergency patients quicker; or perhaps naturalists are light sleepers, so as to catch the wildlife at their sport! Grinning to myself, I walked past the parlor, around the corner, and ran quite violently into Captain Aubrey.

"Miss Fern…" he stammered, catching my arm to prevent my fall. His face, I noticed, was bright red and very guilty. One of his hands was behind his back. "Do forgive me, I didn't know…"

"Please don't," I interrupted with a smile. "I should have known the captain of a ship would be an early riser." He then seemed to recover himself.

"Well, if we are both going to blame ourselves, we might as well enjoy ourselves. Will you take a turn out in the garden with me?" and he held out his arm – his right arm, I noticed. Pleased at his courtesy and quick thinking, I accepted it and we took the back door outside.

The morning was cool and fresh, a nice change from the usual foggy, overhanging clouds. Although the sun had not quite risen yet, the pale blue sky was tinged with pink in the eastern portion, and the dew that had settled on everything made for a fairyland of diamond-sprinkled half-opened blossoms. We walked in silence, but it was a friendly silence, engaging in the unspoken appreciation for our surroundings. The captain was the first to break the silence.

"I understand you are to hurry back to Ireland when the war is over," he commented.

"Yes. I confess I cannot wait; after so many years, London no longer holds any charms for me."

He glanced down at me with a quick smile. In the early morning light, his eyes had become the green depths of the coral reefs Stephen was so fond of painting before my eyes with his words. "I do not blame you. But surely not all of England is like its capital."

"I suppose not; but I can't vouch for it. I've rarely gone beyond the city. And when I do, it is not far. One can never escape London's fogs, it seems."

"You are just as Irish as your brother," he laughed, and I blushed. Seeing it, he quickly amended himself. "No, don't be embarrassed. I make no claim to cause you discomfiture."

"Ah," I said quietly, to be safe. He must have recognized the sorrow in my voice that I had tried to hide, and tactfully changed the subject.

"Shall we return to the house?" he asked, halting our progress amidst a walkway of roses.

"If you like." I was about to make a comment about breakfast, and then stopped. I still hadn't found out about our cook.

Stephen was up when we entered the house. He gave me a weak smile. "Good morning, Fern. Sleep well, Jack?"

"Did you think I wouldn't remember, Stephen?" I cut in, feeling a strange yet delicious rush as I gave vent to my feelings on the matter. "I understand, of course. We all need the cook more than I need Sarah."

"Fern," he said, starting out strong and then faltering; "I…"

"Sarah's mother died years ago," I reminded him softly. "Are we really that bad off?"

As I fell silent, the tenseness in his bearing relaxed, drooping in defeat. "Yes, Fern. I'm sorry."

"I wish you would have told me," I said. "You kept Evangeline, I hope."

Stephen smiled without conviction. "Of course. I wish I hadn't had to let Sarah go."

"It doesn't matter, brother. I am eighteen – I have no more need of her." Smiling at the captain, I detached my arm from his and led the way into the breakfast room.

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Review soon please and tell me what you think!!! 


	4. An Insult

Thank you, French Heart, for reviewing! Here is Chapter 3, just for you. ;)

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3

**An Insult**

_July the fifteenth, 1805_

_Aboard the _HMS Surprise

_Diary,_

_Today we sail. I cannot wait! The captain has promised to acquaint me with one Lord William Blakeney, and young man of twelve who lost his arm in a battle on this very ship not four months ago. Stephen assures me that Lord Blakeney and I will have much to speak of. Perhaps I will find a friend on this ship after all…_

'Surely,' I thought, 'the _HMS Surprise_ is the loveliest ship in His Majesty's Navy. Mr. Mowett, first lieutenant, quite agrees with me. All the officers – especially Lord Blakeney, who is second lieutenant (at his age!) – are very kind, and go out of their way to assist me in any and every way. As for Stephen, I have never seen him so alive. He is as at home here on the ship as he ever was in Ireland, and begins to prepare everything for the care of the men on board, even before we are quite ready to set sail! As for the captain… well. I will not even try to describe his attitude. He is in his element; I will leave it at that.

I stood at the front of the ship – _fore_ I reminded myself sternly; I was determined to pick up all the sailors' jargon and proper nautical names on this voyage – watching the horizon open before me as we left the port. The ocean that lay in front of us was like a broad, glittering jewel that had been hidden in the folds of England's cloak. The sweetly salty air blew the hair back from my sweaty face, and I leaned out over the bow, one hand on the bowsprit, to gaze into the deep, dark waters.

"Bewitching, isn't it ma'am?" asked a voice behind me. I whirled in surprise to find Lord Blakeney following my former gaze out to sea. He grinned up at me suddenly, the wind tossing his golden curls.

"It is indeed, Mr. Blakeney," I replied with a smile. Despite his mature, battle-hardened exterior, he was very much a young boy. It saddened me that one so young should have to bear the pain of slaughter and death. "I envy you your position," I added, only half-lying. "To see this beauty every day…"

"…becomes extremely stupefying," he finished heartily. We laughed together at that.

"Lord Blakeney."

"Sir." The boy straightened immediately.

"If I may speak to our guest for a moment…" It wasn't a question – it was an order, and it was obeyed immediately.

"Yes, sir. Of course." With a respectful touch to his golden forelock, Lord Blakeney left us.

"You are enjoying the voyage so far, Mr. Mowett tells me," the captain commented.

"I am indeed, sir," I replied, very much subdued to see him so: dressed implicitly in his uniform, hat and all, with his hands clasped behind his back and his feet planted firmly on the deck.

He glanced down at me with a twinkle in his eye. "No 'sir' his necessary away from society, Miss Maturin. 'Jack' will be fine; 'Mr. Aubrey' if you prefer, or even 'Captain' if it's absolutely necessary."

I could not help but smile. "As you wish, Mr. Aubrey. To be fair, it must be 'Fern' or nothing – Maturin belongs to my brother and his title of Doctor."

He bowed. "Very well."

"Er… what is it you wish to speak to me about?"

I only wished to be certain you were comfortable," said he.

I gave a nod, the pleasurable feeling of belonging flooding me. "As you see."

"And also…" He became grave. "I wish to make it known to you that Mr. Blakeney and Mr. Mowett have been very open in expressing their concern for your welfare. In short, the three of us – myself especially – wish you to come to us with any concern or difficulty you may have at any time. As you are aware, you are as of yet the only woman on board this ship, and the men – the sailors, that is – tend to become a little… ah, less inclined to celibacy as the voyage goes on. I have spoken to each one of them," he continued, quick to reassure me, "but they are only human, as are we all. So you will forgive me if I warn you beforehand of any mishaps in the future." His professional detachedness, devoid of any feeling whatsoever, disturbed me, and I looked out to see. "Are you all right, Miss Fern? There is still time to turn back if you wish it."

I looked up at him quickly – concern was now embedded in his voice, but I did not desire it. "No indeed, Captain. I am surprised you would think me desirous of that. And thank you for your… warning."

I didn't care if it was disrespectful or not – I left without another word. His true meaning was all too obvious: 'You can't take care of yourself, so please go now'. All because of my stupid disability! I stomped down the stairs and flung myself into my bunk (the only one on board) ignoring Stephen's inquiries after my health and comfort.

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Ha ha! I'm doing it! I'm actually posting once a day! Huzzah for boring classes in school and study hall:) Thanks for reading; pleasepleaseplease review!!! 


	5. Three Cheers for the 'Surprise Concerto'

Huzzah to LittleGreenTroll for reviewing! And no, this is not based on the books. However, I am starting to read them now, and may do one later, though it will feel strange trying to insert my own plot into such a long line of tightly woven tales. I may just stick to bookverse and poetry with the Aubrey/Maturin series:)

-Dark Rose

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4

**Three Cheers for the _Surprise Concerto_**

_Later_

_In Bed_

_Diary,_

_I am doing something I have not done since I was little and realized that I was the only one among my friends that had but one arm. Each night before I go to bed, as I sit on the bunk, I push the collar of my nightdress off with my hand…_

There is nothing unnatural at the end of my shoulder – besides the obvious, I mean. There are no twisted knots of flesh, no scars. Just my shoulder protruding from my collarbone and scooping down into my side. This phenomenon I stroked blindly with my hand, feeling the smooth, abnormal flesh that should have continued the length of my absent arm.

There was an unexpected knock at my door, and I immediately dove into my blankets, pulling the covers up to my chin. "Come in."

Stephen poked his head around the door. "Hello, Fern."

I forced a smile. "Hello Stephen."

"How was your first day aboard the _Surprise_?"

"All right, I suppose," I murmured, as bad a liar as ever as I burrowed deeper beneath my blankets. Stephen raised his eyebrows and removed his spectacles as he moved farther into the room.

"Jack told me about your reaction to his warning. He expressed very clearly that he is very sorry for any misunderstanding."

"There was no misunderstanding," I said firmly, looking away. I heard a sigh, and Stephen moved closer into the room.

"He didn't mean to offend you."

"Of course not. They never do."

"Fern, you're only making the entire situation more painful for yourself. Why must you be so fiercely obstinate?"

"_Obstinate!_ Good Lord Stephen, you sound like Father."

"Fern…" he said reproachfully.

"Sorry," I said sullenly, not really sorry at all. How could I miss someone who had treated me differently all my life? "Please go away."

Stephen frowned at me, and was about to speak again, but someone called his name from within the bowels of the ship and he stopped. "We'll discuss this later, young lady," he promised with gentle sternness. (Was there ever such a thing?) He then left the makeshift cabin, which was really an addition onto the sickbay, closing the door behind him. Sighing, I pushed down the stifling blankets and fell into an uneasy sleep.

The next day passed with much boredom. Since I was determined to avoid both Stephen and the Captain, I remained mostly in my bunk or on the quarterdeck with Lord Blakeney, when he was free. Since I was feeling slightly nauseous from the rough water we had around four thirty, I skipped dinner and remained in Stephen's quarters, sorting his filled sketchbooks and looking at the specimens he had so laboriously collected on his brief landing at _Les Encantadas_.

I was admiring a particularly delicate shell of white and purple with lined spines when I heard a piercing note – and it was not Mr. Hollar's whistle. It was musical; divine, almost. Straightening, I left Stephen's quarters and went above. Lord Blakeney was chatting with a midshipman – one Mr. Boyle, I think – and I approached them.

"Lord Blakeney… what was that sound?" I inquired hesitantly. He seemed surprised at my question.

"Why, 'tis only the Captain and the Doctor, Miss Fern. They play every night." And he pointed to the great cabin, beneath the quarterdeck. A/N: Is that right? Thanking him, though I had no idea what he meant by 'play', I went to investigate.

When I stood at the entrance to the great cabin, I understood. Sitting in a chair was Stephen, his beloved cello resting against his knee as he inspected his bow. The captain, who had his back to me, was shaking out his fingers before replacing them on the strings of his violin and playing a quick scale.

"Ooh," Stephen winced. "I hope I'm not as bad." He drew his bow across a string, playing a C, and groaned. "Good God…"

The captain laughed, and I could not help but smile. Their light, easygoing mood was catching. "Very well then, Stephen, tune up. We shall give Killick a rousing good time tonight, I daresay."

Stephen grunted, and fiddled with the strings for a moment before playing a clear note. Captain Aubrey joined him, and I heard the tell-tale quiver that said they were in perfect tune. Unfortunately, I failed to see the captain turn around to find his music on the table, and was caught in the act.

"Miss Fern. You are feeling better, I hope?" he said, taking his instrument away from his chin.

"Yes indeed, sir. Thank you."

Stephen looked between us and smiled. "You'll join us, Fern, of course."

"What…?" Bewildered, I looked at their broad smiles and frowned. "That would be quite impossible, brother, and you know it."

"Unless, of course, someone thought to take your harp when he was packing?" the captain asked as he set down his violin and whipped the cover off a wide, slender-framed object I had failed to see. It was my harp.

"Oh Stephen, you didn't!"

"No, I didn't," Stephen replied with a smile. "Jack did."

I turned m gaze to the captain, puzzled. "Why?"

"A cello and a violin are all very well, but a harp can really fill the bill." He gestured with his bow. "Go on – there's music there. Start us off."

Reluctantly, I went to it and sat down. I felt extremely self-conscious with the captain – or should I call him Jack? – looking on, but I ran my hand down the strings nonetheless, producing a shower of tinkling sounds. Reaching over, I thumbed through the music and found my favorite Mozart concerto. True to Jack's – erm, Captain Aubrey's – statement, the harp began solo. Resting my palm against the strings to still the last vibratos of my test run, I selected a few strings and spread my fingers.

I wasn't completely aware that my brother and the captain had not joined me when they should have; the music was so beautiful, and it was an extraordinary joy to play after days of being unable to sit down and pluck the strings. Arpeggios resounded in the cabin, delicate and sweet, and as I came to the second movement, a very slow, _largo_ portion in my music, I caught a nod from Stephen and Jack lifted his violin. Slowly, the captain began a poignant crescendo into my backdrop of long _allegro_s and dainty staccato notes that seemed to soar up to the roof like birds and bloom into being in the air around us.

When the final measures came, Stephen finally joined us, ending the concerto with a deep, soulful cry. As silence fell, we all looked at the rapture on each other's faces. Then, from above, we heard cheers and clapping. Then someone who sounded suspiciously like Lord Blakeney shouted, "Three cheers for the _Surprise Concerto!_" Three rousing cries of 'Huzzah!' resounded through the ship, and the three of us smiled at one another.

"I think they started listening when they heard the harp," said Stephen, sending me a private expression of pride. Jack's look of appreciation was enough to completely dispel any negative thoughts I had ever had of him.

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And so affection begins to bloom... but let's not rush it! I will leave you with that for today, and see if I can write any more for tomorrow. Reviews, though I hardly need tell you this any longer, are most welcome!


	6. Doctor's Helper

Here's Chapter 5. WARNING: Some mild gross-out-ness (ah, the life of a naval surgeon!) so be warned. Not too much. But never mind. Go ahead and read. :)

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**5**

**Doctor's Helper**

_July the twentieth, 1805_

_Aboard the _HMS Surprise

_Diary,_

_A sail was been sighted off our starboard side early this morning. Neither the name nor the flag has yet been determined, though they have run up the latter. One of the young lads dropped the captain's glass into the sea, and he was in high dudgeon all morning. None of us – that is to say, the lieutenant, midshipmen, nor the master Mr. Hollar – have dared to approach him on matters greater than a wasting disease. Even Stephen dares not get too close for fear of Jack's blowing up…_

I sat on the quarterdeck, reading under the blue sky and Mr. Mowett's watchful eye. I could see the captain from my position, standing on the side of the ship, one hand hanging onto the ratlines as the _Surprise_ lurched indelicately in choppy waters. He was staring through the first lieutenant's spyglass, which was not quite as good as his own, and, in his opinion, costing him a good deal of advantage. It was mostly just his anger over the loss of his own glass, and the worry of a battle in these rough waves. Because he would barely take the time to look away from our shadowers, Mr. Mowett took over the basic commands of the ship. Nevertheless, no matter how we were pursued, the captain did not give the order to beat to quarters. Apparently the opposing ship had yet to show her colors. So, I basically had the entire quarterdeck to myself.

Reluctant to be parted from the almost cheerful business around and above me, I nonetheless immersed myself in my book and was just starting to forget the world around me when the ocean quite near me exploded. Still sluggish from my ignorance of my surroundings, I was barely conscientious enough to turn my face away. Salty, frigid seawater doused my back liberally, and I gasped in surprise. The Captain immediately began shouting orders that became increasingly unintelligible to my landlubber's ear.

"Beat to quarters immediately! Mr. Calamy, man the guns if you please! Mr. Hollar, see to the mains'l at once. Mr. Mowett! Distribute the boarding weapons, we shall need them if it comes to that…" and so on in lingo of that sort.

A whistle, another explosion – this one near-harmlessly grazing the prow and landing in the water so that it shot a curtain of spray up as far as the top of the jib – and screams. Realizing belatedly that I was caught in the middle of a vicious sea-battle, I scrambled to my feet and made for the hatch.

"Miss Maturin!"

The warning came too late. With a cry, I ran into and fell on top of Lord Blakeney. "Oh sir, pray forgive me!" I gasped out, thinking that his arm pained him.

"No matter, miss. Just get below!" Then, to my astonishment, he leaped up and began giving orders as firmly and efficiently as his superiors.

There was another blast, this time a warning shot from our own ship; the force rocked the deck and I stumbled again. Chaos reigned on the ship – but as I looked closer, I saw that it was organized chaos. Every man had a job to do, and was doing it well. Or at least, so it seemed to me.

But I had no time to ponder. Ducking and weaving amidst the quick-commencing firing, I finally made my way to the hatch. I slipped on my way down, falling at the bottom on my stomach with a harsh jolt. A marine was kind enough to assist me upright before dashing aloft to the sharpshooter's post. When I managed to steady myself against the wall, I saw that my dress – back and front – was splattered with blood. I nearly spewed the contents of my stomach right then and there, but I forced myself to put it out of my mind as I straightened my hopelessly red skirts and staggered tolerably well to the sickbay.

It was filled with wounded men. Stephen was bent over a man whose entire stomach was slashed and lacerated. A few shards of debris stuck out of his body. One again, I fought to keep my nausea under control as my brother removed the debris and cleaned the wound expertly. Above, the sounds of the battle raged on.

Suddenly Stephen glanced up. Catching sight of my bloody front, he let out a strangled cry and ran toward me.

"No Stephen! I just fell and go some on my dress. I'm _fine_," I hasted to reassure him.

"Thank God," he breathed, giving me one last look of concern before going back to his patient.

I looked around at the wounded men that stood or sat against the wall, holding their bleeding bodies upright as best they could – which was, even at best, pathetic. "Can I do anything to help?" I asked.

Stephen didn't look up at me. "No. Go to your berth; you shouldn't have to see this."

"I can help you _save lives_, Stephen," I said firmly, taking one man by the arm and laying him down on the spare 'examining' table. Stephen looked at me with a half-pleading half-resigned expression, but made no reply.

Over the course of a half an hour that seemed to last years I cleaned, stitched, dressed, and bandaged what seemed like legions of men. I was exhausted when at last the call came down that it was over. By the time I had finished with the man who lay on the table before me at the moment, he had passed out from blood loss, though it was difficult to see the proof as two scratched-up seamen lugged him to a spare cot. His blood had mingled with that of the others who had lain here before him, seeping into the wood and dripping onto the floor where it caked amidst the sand. Stephen was busy patching up one seaman and checking on Mr. Hollar, who was in a feverish sweat in one of the bunks, when Mr. Mowett and Benjamin, one of the marines, came stumbling down the stairs with an unconscious Jack Aubrey slung between them. Stephen looked at me desperately, a freshly-wiped scalpel in his bloody grasp.

"It's your call, Fern, I'm afraid. Higgins!"

"S-s-sir?"

"Assist her as she asks, man," Stephen ordered before turning back to his patient. I took a deep breath as the pale captain was laid gently on the table in front of me.

"All right, Fernanda Elizabeth Maturin," I whispered to myself, fighting off another bout of weariness. "Chin up. You can do this, so let's get it done."

I was all too aware of the terrified gazes of the men around me as they realized that their captain was at my mercy. I swallowed. It was going to be a long night.

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GASP! What is going to happen???? Return tomorrow before lunch (erm, that's USA eastern time) to find out! grins evilly

-Dark Rose

PS: It is going to get even more bloody, just a little forewarning...


	7. How to Save a Life

And heeeere's Chapter Six! Huzzah! As forewarned: quite gory, bloody, etc. Those of weak stomach should not read this... I confess I had a difficult time finishing writing it myself, though I was eating lunch in the school cafeteria at the time... ;-)

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**6**

**How to Save a Life**

_July the twenty-first, 1805_

_Aboard the _HMS Surprise

_Diary,_

_Last night was the longest night I have ever had. It was my first not sleeping a wink, of course, but the life that laid upon my knowledge of my brother's craft weighed more heavily on my heart than ever anything else had…_

At first I was uncertain what had happened. Aside from a large purplish lump on his temple where Mr. Mowett said he had been struck briefly by a spar from the falling mizzen, there appeared to be no other damage. Then a lurch of the ship brought the lantern swinging around over the captain's green pallor, and I saw with a sickening drop of my stomach the spreading dark stain on the side of his torn uniform that told me he was bleeding badly. I quickly cut away the fabric with Stephen's spare jackknife, folding his shirt away to reveal the hole torn in his torso. The glint of metal all but pulverized me. Shrapnel.

Mowett was going on about how it had happened: they had all but won, despite the storm that was beginning to churn the sky and waters, when the French privateer – for that is what it had been – sent out a last round of shrapnel along the hull for mere spite. Luckily the winds and the tossing waves had sent it awry, but one blast had made it to the quarterdeck where Jack had been standing. Most of it had peppered the mizzen tops'l and its bearer, sending the already wounded mast crashing down across the quarterdeck with a spar from it barely managing to catch the captain on the head; but apparently enough had found its way to the captain himself.

I ignored Mowett as he ground his teeth and bemoaned the loss of the privateer, who had mysteriously turned tail just as she had gained an advantage, and focused on the captain. I enlisted the help of Mr. Higgins in removing my patient's coat and shirt, swallowing in fear as I swabbed his abdomen and left side with a wet, unavoidably pink-stained cloth. With the excess blood gone, the wound was not as fatal as it had first appeared, but I did not let myself relax. The worst was yet to come.

Shrapnel, as Stephen had lectured me after his fourth voyage sailing under Captain Aubrey, is more debris than anything else; that is to say, very purposeful and well-aimed debris, and more often metal than not. It can also be very deadly when handled properly. Or improperly, I reminded myself, fighting to keep my hand from shaking as I leaned closer to inspect the extent of the damage. The wet, choking scent of fresh blood clogged my nostrils, and I gagged.

"A light, Mr. Higgins!" I managed to splutter, leaning back to get some clearer air. Unfortunately, there was enough wounded to make the entire sickbay smell like a slaughterhouse, and I did not get much relief after that.

Taking a pair of tweezers that had been little-used until now, I leaned down again and forced myself to ignore the smell as I painstakingly removed each glinting piece that I could see. The large intestines were visible from my viewpoint, and I swallowed hard, poking amongst the coils for missed pieces. More than one my fingers slipped near-fatally as the blood on my hand and the tweezers lessened my grip decidedly. Nearly ten men leaned over my shoulders and circled the table, watching in awe and gasping alternately as though I were telling a gory tale. Their murmurs boosted my morale as their awe reached my ears.

"Right proper surgeon-ette she be."

"Aye. Jus' like her brother."

"No foolin' around w' this 'un. She knows what she be doin'."

"All right, gentlemen, all right!" Stephen's voice ordered above the crowd. "Back away; give her room to breathe."

I smiled inwardly. Although their compliments made me feel much better, immense pressure still lay upon my heart, and the extra room gave me more freedom to remember everything Stephen had ever told me about doctoring and surgery. I wiped my sweaty forehead with the back of my wrist, and shook out my nervous limbs before leaning down again. (When I next looked at myself, it looked as though I had a large bloody gash on my forehead.)

When I had everything out I could get, I leaned away and took a great deep breath before continuing. Now came the stitching-up, which was in a way the hardest part. Or at least, it would be for a man. But I was a woman, and had been stitching and doing needlepoint since I was three. Still, the blood on my fingers and the oppressive heat, combined with the smell of the sickbay and the goings-on all around me, served very well to distract me to high Heaven.

At last it was complete, with only a few remaining shards that I dared not remove for fear of rupturing the wall of the intestine, or worse yet, splitting open a major artery. Tying the final knot with something like bedraggled finesse, I washed Jack's abdomen one more time, bandaged it neatly with the help of Higgins, and had Mowett and one of the seamen move him to a spare cot. As I followed, everyone around me touched their forelocks in salute, and at first I thought it was for the captain. Then I saw their reverent expressions and heard through my dead-tired haze their compliments and murmured admiration, and was very humbled by their show of respect.

I was so tired and so moved that I collapsed into a chair near the captain, let out a soft sob, and promptly fell asleep. I was told later that the men fought to keep watch over me and the captain, so as to have the privilege of being my assistant.

_The only thing that concerns Stephen and I, as I write this, is the fact that Jack has yet to wake up. We fear that the spar may have caused a concussion, and possible brain damage. Mr. Mowett has taken over temporary command, and we are making for the nearest land – America – to restock and get ourselves in order – and possibly seeing a professional brain doctor about Jack – before either going home, or continuing our journey…_

After writing that last entry I fell asleep again. When I woke, I was told with great glee that the captain and woken briefly and exchanged a few words with Stephen and Mr. Mowett. I was very happy, and was weeping when Stephen demanded that I go to my berth and rest. I denied him fiercely, but in the end he won out. They promised to notify me when Jack next should wake.

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Sigh Done at last. There shouldn't be too much more grossness, I think - oh wait, there will be! But not too much until later. Thanks for reading and don't forget to be good and review:-) 


	8. Captain's Orders

Okay, this is a shorter chapter - sorry! It's basically designed to strengthen the relationship between Jack and Fern, blah blah blah. Next one's longer, I promise!

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**7**

**Captain's Orders**

_July the twenty-third, 1805_

_Diary,_

_I slept all afternoon the twenty-first and that night. Yesterday Stephen ordered that I stay in bed and rest after my 'ordeal'. He himself assured me that Jack was doing better with each hour that passed, and that rest was the best thing for him now. With such news, I could do nothing but obey. Lord Blakeney, Mr. Mowett, and every other seaman, marine, and officer came by throughout the day yesterday, paying their respects to my health and showing an unabashed appreciation which I found infinitely sweet in the hearts of such hard men. Today I was allowed up to make a turn about the deck, but no more. I was sitting in my bunk, staring boredly out the porthole when Lord Blakeney came clattering to my door…_

"Miss Fern! Miss Fern, the Captain is calling for you," he gasped, clearly out of breath as he clung with fierce joy to his second lieutenant's frock coat. "The Doctor says you may be up if you wish. He's in his cabin," he added before tripping hastily out again.

I froze for a moment, not entirely formulating Blakeney's words. Then, as I ran them through my mind again and again, I actually took it in: the man whose guts I had been prodding but two nights ago was asking for me. A grin almost splitting my face in half, I hopped out of bed and dressed quickly, fixing my hair in a loose chignon that spilled light brown hair from my crown before walking as quickly as possible to the captain's cabin.

Benjamin, the marine I had met the night of the battle, was standing outside it. He saluted me as I passed, opening the door with a grand flourish and grinning as widely as I had been a moment ago. I stepped over the threshold, gulping inwardly as I heard the door close behind me.

The captain's cabin was fairly small, with room enough only for lockers along the wall and the hanging cot. The large porthole showed a view of the ocean spreading widely from horizon to horizon, and a bit of land farther left that was America. I realized that my hand was twisting anxiously with the front of my skirt, and I dropped it. A low chuckle came from the cot.

"Come here, child. I'm not going to be biting anyone any time soon." The sound of that mysteriously oceanic voice did me in. Sucking in a gasp that sounded more like a sob, I went to the cot and knelt beside it.

"Oh sir…"

"Jack," he reproached me, giving me a stern look. Then his face broke out into a gentle smile as he reached out and cupped my chin. "There, there, child, why the tears?"

"They told me you were awake," I struggled to explain, not altogether certain myself of the reason for my grief. "And yet, as long as I could not see you, you were still lying on that surgical table with blood all over you… and the shrapnel… after all you've done for my brother and I, and… oh, I've been so cowardly!"

His expression soon transformed as his brows puckered and concern flooded his eyes, and he drew my head down onto his chest. "You are the bravest woman I have ever had the pleasure of meeting," he said, his voice a rumble in his chest beneath my ear. "What you did was beyond brave, and it was most certainly not cowardly. Your disbelief in my true wellness only proves your desire to care for a patient. Don't be weeping now, lass. Captain's orders."

I lifted my head and managed a watery smile, though I felt like sobbing all over again at the kindness in his face. One of his hands came up and brushed the wetness from my cheeks gently. "I fear I can never repay what you have done for me."

"What I did is only what Stephen would have done," I replied, embarrassed. He shook his head.

"Nay; I think that even Stephen would not have been able to completely patch me up."

"But I didn't either!" I protested. "You still have some shrapnel in your side that I couldn't remove."

"Nothing that a few adjustments won't fix." He brushed the fact off like a mere triviality. "We are bound for the southern United States, are we not?"

"Yes sir," I answered, puzzled at his abrupt change of conversation. "To take on provisions. Mr. Lamb says…"

"Most of the water was spoiled and we have barely enough food to last us to the States, yes," he sighed, and suddenly was a captain again. Then he gave me a mischievous smile. "All right, run along. And tell Stephen he can stop trying to stuff me full of medicines before my stitches break."

I stood, my smile genuine this time. "Yes sir, captain sir," I said, saluting. He raised an eyebrow, and I relaxed. "Yes, Jack. Right away."

"That's better," he approved, taking my hand and kissing it gently before shooing me off.

* * *

Jack: SOB! It's so _true_! (sniffles)

Me: All right, that's enough. You're supposed to be a tough sea captain.

Jack: (glares from around his handkerchief)

Me: (sigh...)


	9. A Timely Checkup

Kudos to French Heart for reviewing! Huzzah! ;)

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**8**

**A Timely Checkup**

_July the twenty-eighth, 1805_

_Diary,_

_The captain Jack has grown better and better each day, and has taken to bellowing his orders from his cabin in such a way so as to be heard from a mile away. Thus, Mr. Mowett and Mr. Blakeney have been allowed to save their voices for a time – orders are heard easily from the hold to the main topgallant sheet. He does this because I will not let him up, no matter how he hollers and pleads. To have all my work undone in minutes would be far too easy…_

"Fernanda Maturin, I command you to let me up," Jack said as soon as I walked into his cabin with his dinner. I ignored him. "Fern, _please_! Just for a turn about the deck; the _quarter_deck for God's sake. You don't understand," he whined as I granted him a look of sympathy. I adjusted the tray on his lap, however, without speaking. He caught my hand and resorted to petulance. _"Fern_…!"

"_No_, Jack. And you know very well why," I scolded, pulling my hand free and standing back out of reach. "I'm quite certain you can stand three more days abed."

"Abso_lutely_ not!" he declared forcefully, but his face had brightened. I had just reduced his 'sentence' by two days.

"Hmm," I said, raising one eyebrow skeptically. "Shall Stephen and I serenade you this evening after dinner?"

'Ha ha!' I thought to myself. 'What shall he think of this? There goes his to-sleep-by-eight-o'clock taboo.' He allowed himself a small smile.

"That would please me exceedingly," he said, the politest he'd been since the surgery.

"Good. Tomorrow's check-up day, by the way, and no laudanum for you this time. I need you decently awake to answer me a few things."

He squirmed, disliking being half-naked in front of me even though I had practically been looking into his stomach a few days before, but agreed in the end. I then left him, and spent the rest of the day amusing myself by watching the _Surprise_'s crew at work finishing her paint job we sailed away from the Carolinas.

_July the twenty-ninth, 1805_

_Aboard the _HMS Surprise_, a day out from Central America_

_Diary,_

_After our brief stop in the Carolinas to restock and refit (seeing as we lost our mainmast in the battle), and in Bonden's, the coxswain's, case, pick up information, we were well on our way again. Yes, the harbor-master said, a French man-'o-war had passed by not five days since, but had not stopped there. The name was unable to be made out, but it was an easily recognizable color: black, with a broad yellow stripe along the gunports. Without a doubt it was our privateer, the _Orages Terrible_. However, Jack has decided not to make pursuit, on account of me; though it is certain what might follow would not be half as bad as what I witnessed in the sickbay of the _Surprise_. But never mind that… Jack is due for his check-up now, no matter how he dreads it, and I must go to him immediately…_

"Marm!" Benjamin threw me a stiff salute as I approached the captain's cabin, Stephen's customary check-up bag in my hand. Bowing slightly, he opened the door and closed it behind me. I glared.

"You should not be out of bed, Mr. Aubrey," I said stiffly upon sight of him sitting on the lockers. However, instead of the hearty grin I had expected, he looked up with a weak shadow of a smile on his gray face. Alarm grew up my back and curled around my neck in icy fingers of warning. "Sir…?" He drew in a great breath with difficulty.

"I'm glad you came," he rasped, wincing with the effort of communicating as I went to him. "I confess I… Good God…"

"Jack. Tell me what's wrong," I nearly demanded, looking him in the eye. He met my gaze, his entire body hunched and lined with pain.

"I'm dying," he managed to croak. "I'm dying, I know it. Ah…" He gasped sharply as I straightened him, undoing his waist coat and sliding it off his shoulders. His shirt soon followed.

"Keep going," I murmured, kneeling beside him to undo the bandages. With each layer that came away, my feeling of dread increased. They were spotted with blood and a fluid of some ugly yellowish color. Infection had set in for sure.

"I noticed an ache in my side when I woke up this morning," he went on laboriously. "When I moved it burned like fire, but when I sat quite still it didn't hurt so bad. That's why I'm here; the cot rocked too much." He saw me blanch as the last bandage came away. "What? What is it?"

"Oh Jack… all right, don't move. Keep your shoulders back, and try not to jerk or anything – this is going to hurt."

He clenched his teeth and straightened as I directed. "Get it over with."

"Very well then. Press this cloth against your side, just so… to the right more, against your navel… very good. Here we go…"

He had time for only one apprehensive glance at the knife in my hand before I sliced the stitches one by one, the angry red flesh pulling distastefully. He groaned aloud, throwing his head back and tightening every muscle in his body, but made no more complaint than that. I sighed with relief as puss dribbled out, slowing as the infection was purged. As gently as possible, I pressed his abdomen above and below the wound, trying to ignore his harsh racking breaths of pain. More yellow-white fluid emerged, and I set my knife down to wipe the wound clean with a wet rag and soap shavings.

"Done?" he gasped out.

"Nearly," I replied. I glanced up to see his shoulders shaking as he fought against the pain. "Just hold on, and I'll be done in less than a minute."

"Could you… damn!" His curse exploded rather violently as my needle pierced his skin, and I bit down on my lip on accident.

"Talk?"

"Yes…"

"All right." I scowled at his wound for being so bothersome, and kept up a tirade of chatter as I sewed busily. I spoke of life in Ireland, about Stephen's first absence with the _Surprise_, his return and his retelling of every adventure he had had aboard, about reuniting with Jack, and about my nanny, Sarah, who had been with me since I was born right up until the day Stephen dismissed her. By the time I had used up all the words I was sure could be used in a lifetime, I had finished stitching, salving, and binding my patient, and I sat back on my heels to look up at him.

"Well. How does that feel?"

"Like hell, but better than this morning," he admitted, slumping back against the wall. He gave me a small smile. "Fern to the rescue once again."

"It's my new job, sir," I said with a smile, folding up the soiled cloths and putting them in a bundle to wash later. The instruments I did the same with, and then put it all into the little satchel that held them. "Come now; I daresay a little fresh air will do wonders for your temperament."

And so, with much leaning on my shoulder, the captain and I made our way up on deck. There was a great cheer as we appeared, and three _Huzzah_swere sanctimoniously roared all about the ship. Jack's weary face soon lifted into a smile, and he saluted his sailors, officers, and midshipmen in reply. However, we did not remain above very long. Jack soon grew very tired, and I was obliged to take him below once again. I remained with him as he fell asleep, holding his hand and relating picturesque tales of my homeland until a gentle snore interrupted me. Smiling, I replaced his hand upon his blankets and – perhaps against my better judgment – leaned down and placed a kiss on his peaceful brow.

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Let's all breathe a sigh of relief... Jack's not dead! Yet! Oops... wasn't suppose to say that... But never mind! More tomorrow, and after that who knows? I'm at an impasse! Crap:-P 

-DR

More fluff:

Jack: She ruined it! She always ruins _everything!_

Stephen: Stop being so dramatic. You're adgitating my bees.

Jack: Oh God...

Stephen: --chuckles evilly--


	10. An Unexpected Passenger

I'm afraid I'm going to have to make a ver sincere apology to all of you who have read (and love!) the books as I have/do and so know a certain's woman sweet temperment. Feel free to get angry later on - for now, read, and I'll explain at the end. Please don't get mad!!!

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9

**An Unexpected Passenger**

_August the fifth, 1805_

_Aboard the _HMS Surprise

_Yesterday Jack was feeling much better, and I allowed him to get up after a thorough look-over. I check up on him every day now; I am not taking any more chances. Anyway, I was at the helm with Barret Bonden, who has become a recent friend of mine, and Jack was on the quarterdeck with Mowett and Blakeney discussing what had gone on since he was bedridden. Suddenly, from up the new mainmast, there came a halloo…_

"Ahoy the captain! Sail one point off the larboard stern!"

Everyone looked up, and then back out off the stern. I bade Barret farewell and joined Jack and the lieutenants on the quarterdeck. They were all looking through glasses – Mr. Boyle was obliged to buy Jack a new one with money out of his own pocket, and he had spared no expenses; Jack was well-pleased – out over to larboard, training their eyes on a small white sail barely visible on the horizon. I wondered how the seaman on duty had seen it at all.

"Looks like a ship of the line, right enough," Mowett commented.

"Indeed," Jack replied. "No flag up. Hm. Not black and yellow though, more's the pity. I should have liked to have a go at the '_Terrible_ in any event."

"Certainly no merchant, sir, though she's a damn fine ship," agreed Mowett. "Pity we can't pursue her."

"She may very well be English, though her lines look French enough," Jack reminded him. "Familiar, isn't she…? Mr. Hollar!" he bellowed, turning and blasting me in the face. "Oh! Forgive me, Miss Fern; I didn't see you." He smiled at me before sending another shout over my head. "Mr. Hollar, we will take down the topgallants, jib and flying jib!" Turning around he privately spoke to Lord Blakeney. "We will beat to quarters, Mr. Blakeney, if you please."

The young lad saluted smartly and went to pass the word to the Marine officer, Mr. Hollar confirming orders as he went. "Topgall'nts an' jibs, sir!" Mr. Hollar repeated, and the earsplitting shriek of his whistle sounded over the deck. Jack lowered his friendly gaze back to me.

"We shall soon see who she is, Fern, and then we can fight if she's weak enough or flee is she's slow enough."

"What if she's neither?" I asked stupidly.

Jack reared back and laughed, obviously in roaring good spirits. "Such a heavy ship of the line, Miss Fern, will never outrun a light frigate, especially one so fine as ours, and we with the weather gauge too. Nay, we will have the advantage either way; no reason to fret." And he squeezed my shoulder. "Go on below, and we shall see what we shall see."

_Later_

_In my Bunk_

_Diary,_

_The most surprising thing happened! The ship was the _Spirit_, the newly renamed French ship of the line _Acheron_, which Jack took a prize; it is now under the command of Captain Thomas Pullings, who was recently promoted from first lieutenant. Captain Pullings bore precious cargo indeed: Jack's sister, Sophie, and her attendant. I am to meet her tonight at dinner, when the officers etc. of the _Spirit_ will dine with us. Having another woman aboard will be such fun…_

I was busily writing in my diary when there came a brisk rap on my door. I looked up, wondering who would knock so politely; all the sailors that I had made friends with over the course of patching them up just barged in, whether I was in nightclothes or not, the midshipmen and officers hallooed before making an entrance, and Stephen always tapped lightly in that shy way of his. As for Jack, he had yet to visit me – he always sent a midshipman to ask me to the great cabin; either that or I went to his private cabin to make sure he was well.

"Erm… come in," I said uncertainly. The creature that walked into the room made me swallow in dread. She was exactly the picture of all London debutantes; the kind that had so maliciously ruined my first Season.

"Miss Fern Maturin, I presume," she said, looking down her delicate nose at me. Her blatant blue gaze observed my empty sleeve with something like disgust, and I shrunk into myself immediately – a habit I had thought long behind me. "I am Miss Sophia Aubrey."

"I thought as much," I replied daringly, in an attempt to shove my fear aside. Her crystalline eyes flashed as she reared her golden head.

"Indeed. Well. I will see you at dinner I suppose. All these men – to think! How _hideously_ vulgar. I am glad for a female presence." She sounded as though she regretted ever coming aboard. I was about to reply with some polite nothing, but with one more disgusted glance, she left in a swirl of scent and silk.

"Oh Lord." I realized I had tensed up during the untimely visit, and with part relief part disgusting, irrational fear I sank down onto the pillows. There I lay for some time, unwilling to accept the fact that I soon had to go to the great cabin for supper until finally there was a halloo of warning and Lord Blakeney appeared. He saluted briefly.

"Miss Fern, the Captain and the Doctor are asking for you. We about to have dinner… Miss Fern! Are you well?" he exclaimed, dashing to my bedside. I looked up from my pillow, where my face had been buried.

"I will not take dinner tonight, I think," I managed to croak.

"Shall I not send the Doctor to tend you?" he pressed anxiously. I managed a weak smile.

"No, no. I'll be fine. A little rest is all that is required. Go and enjoy your supper, Mr. Blakeney. I will see you tomorrow."

"If you're sure, ma'am. Tomorrow." With another touch to his forelock, he left, and I sank back down in relief. What a coward I was! I could wash away blood and stitch a man's shattered torso up, but I could not face a mere lady. Feeling more miserable than ever, I curled up in my blankets and fell into a troubled sleep.

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There. It's done. Enter Sophia, the London snob. Sorry for making her such mean/evil/nasty character in general!!!! However, if you will be so kind as to read on, I hope to develop this character as far is possible in the opposite direction from that which she is headed now. In other words, she'll start to get better. But enough! You'll just have to wait and find out. -DR


	11. Confessions of a One Armed Gentlewoman

French Heart, you get a large homemade cookie for your kind review. Not really, but you know what I mean! ;-) Here's chappy 10, just for you.

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**10**

**Confessions of a One-Armed Gentlewoman**

_August the sixth, 1805_

_Aboard the _HMS Surprise

_Diary,_

_I have not felt well at all today. It seems a reliving of my first Season, only worse as my shyness has returned full-force. Who knew that one woman could wield such power of another? Because of our new passenger, I have not been abovedecks since yesterday morning. I plead a headache so I have no reason to go up and speak with Miss Aubrey, but when Stephen came to see what was wrong, I sent him away before he could open his mouth. I feel bad for hurting his feelings, but I will not go through the agony of ridicule again, so strongly resurrected after two years of dormant fears…_

I was looking out my porthole, wishing desperately to go on deck, when there was a knock at my door, followed by a very unexpected voice.

"Fern? Fern, it's Jack… may I come in?"

I leaped up from the lockers with joy, "Yes indeed, sir," forgetting entirely that I was clad only in my nightdress and shawl. Still, he did not duck his head, nor even flinch, though he saw my current attire.

"Stephen tells me you are unwell, but will not let him tend you. May I ask why?" His voice, crisp and businesslike, belied his concerned air.

"It is only a headache – it will pass with rest," I replied, keeping my eyes on the floor. I heard footsteps, and a pair of boots came within my line of vision as a finger lifted up my chin.

"Is it Sophie?"

I swallowed hard. "What do you mean, sir?"

He gave a rueful smile. "I can tell you're lying, Fern. Whenever you're being untruthful or are afraid, you call me sir instead of Jack. Come now, tell me the truth." And he raised one eyebrow sternly.

"Yes, it is then!" I cried, frustrated enough to be extremely angry and thus ejaculating language quite indelicate for young women. "Ladies and their damned prejudices! Someone without an arm is sure to be a simpleton, sure to be a fool, sure to be ugly and weak and unfit for anything but a damn governess' post, or a nunnery, or even the streets, should be turned out of the house to starve to death! She'll never find a husband, is too weak to do anything but sit at home and watch others at their watercolors and their stitching and lean with weak insipidity on their families for support. And _oh_, how _shamefully_ hideous they are, to be _sure_!" My tirade over and done, I turned away lest I should slap him and stared out the port window with tears rolling freely down my cheeks.

"Is it that bad?"

"Yes!" I sensed him recoil at my vehement response, and I wilted. "I'm sorry, sir… Jack. But it's true."

Through the leaden silence that followed my weak apology, I was certain he had left me, disgusted by my actions and desiring no more association with me. How could he not, after I had so openly accused his sister of all the things she had done, hadn't done, and was sure to do in the future? Then I felt a gentle touch on each shoulder, growing into a gentle clasp as his arms encircled my body to hold me against him. He lowered his chin to rest on my right shoulder.

"My dearest Fern… I apologize most heartily for my sister and her ways. Her kind… they cannot help it, you know."

"Can't they?" I murmured, a sniffle accompanying my petulant query. A slight laugh came out as an uneven rush of air from his nose, stirring the loose strands of hair around my face.

"My dear, do you ever think that perhaps your character would be quite different were you born with both arms? That perhaps you would be as _they_ are, if things had gone differently? That maybe you have escaped a shallow, meaningless life thanks to your lack of a limb…"

"I have never wondered that," I admitted. "But what you say may be true indeed." Absently, I raised my arm and lightly touched his hand where it rested against my collarbone. In reply, he took my fingers and raised them to his mouth where he kissed each tip with sweet reverence that sent chills down my spine.

"Don't let her temperament frighten you," he bade me. "Don't let her being on this ship prevent you from being who and what you are." He laid his cheek against my neck as though to kiss it, but did not. Instead he spoke, his voice strangely affected. "I want to see you at supper tonight, battling with your wit and spunk against her dry cruelty, and I want to see you win. She, after all, has the disadvantage of a weak stomach. Promise me?"

"Yes," I sighed, giving in much too easily.

"Good girl," he approved, and placed a lingering kiss on my temple that was enough to make me feel faint as he walked briskly out the door.

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Three cheers for Fern's audacity! (Huzzahx3) Don't give up on Sophie yet, and thanks for your reviews/support! They make it all worthwhile.

-DR


	12. The Horn

WhiteAngel78 and French Heart, you are both amazing! There's nothing like a good review to cheer a person up. I'm glad Sophia isn't too much of a shock. :-)

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11

**The Horn**

_August the tenth, 1805_

_Aboard the HMS _Surprise

_Diary,_

_Jack's confidence in me has proved invaluable this past week. As we sail ever southward, with the wind at our backs, he has driven me again and again to see how little Sophie need affect me; how silly I was, to be frightened of her! Jack loves her as dearly as an elder brother should, of course, and it extremely commendable – I should not have the decency to love her so well – but I confess I fear for Stephen. He has been acting very strange of late, and seems ill at the best of times. Perhaps he has caught a bug of some kind…_

I woke not a week after my talk with Jack to shouts and running abovedecks. Sitting up so hastily I nearly cut my head open on the beam above me, I slid out of bed and threw on a dress without looking at it, putting on a greatcoat over it before running up to the quarterdeck. To my displeasure, Miss Aubrey was there, speaking coyly with a red-faced Mr. Mowett. He looked infinitely relieved to see me.

"Miss Fern. I trust you slept well?"

"Marvelously. What's amiss?" I asked, looking back over the _Surprise_'s chaotic deck and the men swarming up the rigging.

"Why, nothing, to be sure," Mr. Mowett replied. "Captain's making ready to round the Horn."

"Cape Horn?" Miss Aubrey cut in smoothly, putting one hand flirtatiously upon the first lieutenant's arm. "Why, how perfectly adventurous. Surely you must be very brave to be on decks in such a storm." She sent me a warning glare over Mr. Mowett's shoulder, which I pointedly ignored.

"I daresay he does it all the time," I said lightly, smiling at him. "Do you not, William?"

"This will be my third, Miss Fern," he replied with a slight inclination of his head. "My first two I went there and back 'round with the Captain in pursuit of the _Acheron_, as you well know. If you'll both excuse me now, I am needed. You!" he boomed, his voice nearly carrying as far as Jack's. "There, Mr. Callaway! No idling while we make passage – Mr. Hollar, take that man's name if you please!" And he was away, bounding with something like relief down to the main deck.

"You have great knowledge of nautical affairs by now, I am certain?" Miss Aubrey asked coldly.

"Indeed I do not," I laughed lightly, "but I thank you for your flattery. I do make certain to know which is lar- and which is starboard, however; and the names of the masts and sails, on occasion. On my good days I can recall the proper titles for everything below, and usually I have the meaning of 'fore' and 'aft' fixed firmly in my mind, so as not to embarrass myself in front of the officers, nor Stephen and Jack." I snapped my mouth shut, mortified; Sophie's eyes flashed.

"Ah yes… I'm sure _Jack_ would be moved to tears should you stumble upon the names of the rigging." With that icy parting, she swept off the quarterdeck and below while I remained above, wishing I had not revealed that Jack had given me express permission to use his Christian name.

_Later_

_After Dinner_

_Diary,_

_Dinner this evening was more of a late supper – none of us had the constitution for anything earlier than that, with the wicked seas except some of the tougher sailors; but then, everyone but Sophie, Stephen, and I was abovedecks. I was very nearly sick, but then the waves lessened and we were obliged to go ahead faster thanks to the lessening storm. Just before dinner we rounded the Horn, and the men were divided into watches once more. Thanks to the pitching seas, Miss Aubrey did not join us for that meal, and it was very pleasurable to dine and sup with the officers in good company, with much laughter, song, and drink. After, Stephen and I were invited to the great cabin to play…_

"The 'Strassburg Concerto number 3' I should think," Stephen suggested as he twanged his strings agreeably.

"Whatever you like," said Jack. "Fern? What do you say?"

"The 'Concerto' sounds good to me," I said, ruffling through my music as I steadied my harp with my knees – the water still had some dip and curl to it, and my harp was heavy and therefore dangerous if it fell. And so we began, with my low plucking starting us off.

As usual, Jack joined first, soon followed by Stephen's harmonizing strains. After that we played an adagio from a Grosso Concerto, when I let Jack and Stephen take the fore with my light tinkling in the background. We were so immersed in the slow blend of lower-middle ranges that we did not notice Miss Aubrey's entrance until I chanced to look up towards the end and see her looking at me with disapproval, her arms folded over her shawl. Smiling blatantly at her, I finished the movement and bowed from the waist where I sat.

"Miss Aubrey."

Jack spun around – his favorite position when playing was to face the windows – and smiled. "Sophie, dear. You are feeling better?"

"To some degree," Sophie replied, exhibiting a kind of genuine honesty towards her brother that for a moment I was unsure that I knew her. "The storm is beginning to settle."

"There is a near-constant storm around Cape Horn," Jack agreed. He held out his violin. "You will play for us?"

Miss Aubrey glanced away. "I think maybe not tonight."

I was surprised at her withdrawnness – or her show of it. Surely not even seasickness could have wrought such a change upon her so as to make her this meek. On impulse, I protested. "Please, Miss Aubrey, play for us." Her brows puckered in a briefly confused frown, but only briefly.

"If you insist." So saying, she took the violin from her brother's outstretched hands and nestled it against her chin in a way I was suddenly and very keenly envious of – I could not play such an instrument no matter how I tried. I could form the chords, or I could draw bow across string, but not both at once.

If Jack played very well, then Sophie played extraordinarily well, with an added grace to each movement that no male musician, no matter how professional, could quite replicate. Angered at my jealousy, I looked away – and saw the strings of my harp gleaming invitingly in the candlelight. I ran my hand down the wooden side, so well-carved; it was so beautiful an instrument and I felt ashamed that I had ever wished for another. At Stephen's urging nod, I joined in reluctantly. Slowly Stephen glided in with a baritone undercurrent, and Jack stood back and watched us all with a pleased smile on his face that seemed to light up my entire soul as I beheld it.

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I can't believe we're this far already. Unfortunately, the future for the Aubreys and the Maturins remains cloudy in my stressed-out mind, but I _am_ staying two chapters ahead!

Jack: Cheater...

Me: Shut up. Anyway, thanks for reading, please review -

Jack: I think they know to do _that_ by now...

Me: - and don't hesitate to present advice/ideas! Since I don't know where exactly this is going, anything is welcome.

Stephen: Except flames!!!

Jack: Oh come on! Now you're on her side?

Stephen (miffed): Yes! (sticks out tongue)

Jack: Dear Lord, I'm outnumbered! Fern...!

Fern: Don't even _think_ about getting me involved in this, Jack!

Jack: (grumbles)


	13. An Unforeseeable Disaster

French Heart, here is your much-awaited chapter! Many thanks for your review. To anyone who has the M&C soundtrack, I suggest you listen to 'Fantasia on a Theme by Tomas Tallis' while you read this. I listened to it while I wrote it and it was very moving.**

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**12**

**An Unforeseen Disaster**

_August the twenty-third, 1805_

_The Galapagos Islands_

_Diary,_

_Many things have happened since I wrote you last nigh on thirteen days ago. It will take me quite a while to relate them all, but I will do my best to tell them faithfully. Before I continue, I will mention this: I am not writing, as my arm is still 'unadvisable to be used', as Stephen says, at present, so Sophie is writing for me. _

_It began sometime in the night after Sophie first played for us – the chase, I mean. Or the flight, whichever you prefer. Some half-odd watch before dawn, the marines began to beat to quarters, and the word was passed to the captain that the 'Terrible had been sighted left astern of us, not a mile distant…_

The brisk sound of a drum beating to quarters woke me from a very pleasant sleep. Irritable, I rolled over and covered my head with a pillow until Stephen rushed in and shook me violently.

"Fern! Fern, get up – we are both of us needed in the sickbay," and he ran quickly out again. I sat up, and was thrown back down again as we gave a warning shot. Shouts and footsteps rang above my head; I could just distinguish Jack's bellowing orders to show our flag and run out the guns. The woodwork vibrated as guns were heaved up to their ports, and shouts were called as the cox'n was given new directions every moment and the marines ran up to their sharpshooters' posts. A battle was evident. So, shaking myself out as I went, I fell out of bed, dressed in the stained dress I had worked in last time, and went directly to the sickbay. Stephen had already laid out all the tools and medicines, and Mr. Higgins was setting up the bandages and water necessary for cleaning.

It irked me greatly not to know what was going on, but Stephen refused to let me on deck. After a broadside each had been exchanged, however, I waited for my chance – when both Stephen and Higgins were occupied – and slipped up the stairs to the deck.

The carnage shocked and horrified me, it being more terrible in the raw bestial openness of battle. A French bullet whizzed by my ear, and I ducked, remembering quite belatedly that there _was_ a battle going on all around me. Going on my hands and knees, I dragged roughly three or four men to the sickbay with Killick's assistance before Stephen realized what I was doing. Reprimanding me sharply, he all but threatened to skin me where I stood, and had Higgins keep a close eye on me after that. I therefore set myself to the gruesome but necessary task of dealing with the wounds of the men who were laid upon my table.

There came then a brief lull, and Blakeney ran down to have his head bandaged and to tell the news: after some fierce shooting on the parts of both ships, the _'Terrible_ backed away to lick her wounds, having suffered some waterline holes and damage to her mizzen. We were not much better off, however: our mainmast was all but split, we had many wounded and about four dead, and our flying jib and mainstaysail were so full of holes one could scarcely see the threads that remained of them; burning canvas littered the deck, Blakeney reported, and had nearly set fire to the lower sails and the hammocks. The rigging, too, was suffering grievously – but we were not loosing half so much water as the _'Terrible,_ Lord Blakeney assured us with fervent respect for his captain burning in his eyes as I tied the knot of the bandage that slowed the blood flow from his brow.

"A nice battle scar you'll have there in time, and no mistake," I told him sternly. He was very excited about my prediction, contrary to my expectations, and soon dashed away again, casting a brief assurance over his shoulder that the captain was holding out as far as he knew. If only I could know for certain!

After a short time, the guns started up again, roaring so thunderously I was sure I would be deaf within minutes. Those wounded who could return to their posts did so; the others slept or groaned in the hammocks that had not been used on deck. Then suddenly, I realized there were no more men waiting to be helped. Stephen was still leaning over an unconscious man with a gash in his leg, and Higgins was alternating between dashing away to be sick and giving Stephen any required instruments. Best of all, the gunfire had stopped for the moment. So, with some folly in my mind about checking for more wounded, I crept away and up to the deck.

Jack was furious to see me, but was too tired to do anything about it. He sent me to Mr. Mowett to check on the number of wounded still on deck. Our ship seemed wreathed in fog – thick, acrid fog that soon began to clear: gun smoke. Mr. Mowett urged me hastily to get below, for the _'Terrible_ was swinging round again for one last shot. I obeyed quickly; too quickly. In a strange twist of fate, I tripped over a very dead man, tried to get up, slipped in his blood, and got up again. Stumbling now, my balance still unsure, I made my way towards the hatch. Then there was a violent roar, the deck in front of me exploded, and darkness fell like a curtain over my glimpse of Jack's horror-struck face. My lingering thought was, 'How blue his eyes are!' before I completely passed out from pain.

_Here I have let Jack take up the tale from his perspective. Sophie will write it down as she has written my side of the battle…_

The thrill of the battle was still running strong as the _'Terrible _turned round once more. I knew it was her mistake: we could take her now for sure. Glancing about to make sure that foolish child had gone below, I did not see her for she had fallen. My greedy gaze turned immediately round again to view the approaching ship. She was a beauty for sure, and would fetch a pretty price back in England if I managed to take her without sinking her. She was desperately low in the water already.

Our guns fired at the same time; a ball whizzed past my head, and landed harmlessly in the water on our other side. She had aimed too high. As I registered this, however, I heard a shrill scream, and spun around in time to see Fern, her neck and chest lacerated and pierced with splinters from the deck, fall slowly and dazedly to her knees.

My world stopped.

Froze.

There was no movement anywhere but Fern, dearest Fern, falling… falling… Her dark eyes searched me out, pleaded with me… and then she was on her face on the deck, motionless. A bloody wooden spar stuck up through her good shoulder.

I was only half aware of my surroundings. Blakeney tells me I yelled out, screaming her name, and ran towards her. I must have, for suddenly I was there at her side, turning her blank face up to me. I took her in my arms, held her against me, rocking her back and forth. Again and again I called her name, sobbed her name, begged her not to go. My tears ran in torrents, and the world around me was dim and uncertain; her head hung back loosely, her hair coming unbound and blowing like fine wheat in the breeze. There was something inside my chest I had never felt before, eating at my soul as her dead eyes stared up at me, stared up at the sky as it began to weep for her, shedding rain on our tiny bloody battlefield in the middle of the ocean.

I began to shake violently, nearly dropping my precious cargo as I struggled to stand upright. I shook off Mowett's hand and staggered below. Stephen's face was a sight I'll never forget. Dazed shock mixed with raw horror, and then soundless tears as I laid her on his table, my arms and legs now trembling so hard I could barely stand. But I would not let go of her hand… not for all the prize-money in the world.

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Dundundunnnn! What will happen next?

Jack: Oh! I know! I know!

Stephen: Shut up. Please.

Blakeney: I think it's fun to watch the Captain behaving like a lunatic.

Jack: I resent that remark...

Me: Anyway... you'll just have to wait and find out tomorrow! Muahahahaha! :-)

Stephen: (logically) Unless, of course, they're reading this in a few days or months or years and you've already put up several more chapters...

Me: (sighs)

Jack: Or even finished it, God forbid!

_HMS Surprise: _Why do I even put up with these people?


	14. The Sunrise

Here's a little bit of fluffy romance for those of you who've been wanting more. Enjoy!**

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**13**

**The Sunrise**

_Later (J the 23)_

_On the Galapagos Islands_

_Diary,_

_After the accident, I did not come awake until two days ago. By then the Galapagos – the nearest land available – were in sight, and Jack made for them in hopes of speeding my recovery. This account of what happened was told me by Stephen and Sophie. I have not seen Jack since awakening, and it grieves me that he is too busy to stop in the tent but all the sailors, marines, officers, and midshipmen are not. Nevertheless, I will try and catch up to the present time as best I can – it's hard to concentrate when everyone but the most stiff of officers are playing rugby outside my tent with 24-pound shot…_

When I woke, I was dopey, achy, and very disoriented. My arm was in a sling. The first thing I saw was the canvas stretch of tent over my head; the first thing I heard was a scuffle going on outside over some petty trifle amongst the youngsters. Then, booming so loud I was sure my skull would split, Jack pulled them roughly apart, berated them, and sent them off to do some sort of miserable repair-duty aboard ship.

My eyes were quick to take in my surroundings as the sullen pair was marched off: five sides of canvas (including the ceiling), Stephen's desk that was normally nailed firmly to the floor of his cabin, both our sea-chests, and various blankets, stores, medical instruments, specimens, and my mirror. The flaps of the tent swayed resolutely in the breeze, allowing me view of a gentle incline that went down into the bluest aquamarine waters I had ever seen; upon the gentle swell rested the _Surprise_, laying on the ocean like a great sea-bird with her canvas wings folded demurely.

Suddenly, a 24-pounder rolled briskly by my tent, followed at a run by a passel of seamen and two midshipmen. Then Mr. Donahue, a rather young third lieutenant, ran back across my view, the shot tucked firmly under his arm as he was diligently pursued by Jack and Mr. Blakeney. The men were quick to follow. The sight was so ridiculous that I could not help but laugh – a feeble excuse for a laugh, to be sure, but a laugh nonetheless.

Despite the chaos outside, someone must have heard me, for there was a great shout and Barret Bonden sprang into the tent, a stocky, half-naked, lobster-red presence that made me cower back unintentionally, somewhat overwhelmed.

"Miss Maturin!" he exclaimed, out of breath and covered in sand, his hairy chest heaving before he dashed out again. "Doctor! Sir! Doctor, she lives!"

Stephen was next to burst in, only slightly more decent in canvas drawers and an open white shirt. His face was sunburned beyond belief, but he was most certainly alive, robust, and very well indeed. For some reason, his very being there struck me as a miracle, and I began to cry.

"My dearest Fern," he breathed sorrowfully, holding me close as he instantly transformed from doctor to brother. "All's well that ends well, hey?" Despite his comforts, his hands shook as they checked my bandages and ran over my face to check my temperature.

"Where are we?" I managed to rasp after I had calmed down.

"The Galapagos, of course," Stephen beamed wearily, helping me to swallow a glass of water. Fresh, cool water! "_Les Encantadas_. You must see them when you are well enough to get up; they are magical."

"Thus their name," I teased him weakly. He must have noticed my half-heartedness, for he instantly pressed me back down to the pillows.

"No, no, my dear; you must rest now. How do you feel?"

"Sleepy. And my shoulder hurts. What… what happened?"

"It doesn't matter for now, my dear. I will tell you all of it in time. For now, sleep, and when you wake up perhaps I will have Jack and Bonden set you up under a canvas outside."

"I'm… not… a… a baby…" I protested between yawns. He just chuckled and squeezed my hand, holding it until I fell fast asleep.

When I woke again, I felt as though I had been reborn in spirit and in body. It was very, very early morning outside – Stephen's watch read 4:32 AM in the light of a lamp he had left on. His slumped form was a lightly snoring shadow over her specimens. Feeling somewhat confined, I rose as silently as possible, slipping a shawl over my shoulders before venturing barefoot out into the gray morning.

Oh, to be shoeless again! It was a wonderful thing. To my surprise, however, my years in London had left my feet delicate and tender, no more the toughened bottoms of a child at home traversing the swamps and moors of Ireland. Nonetheless, the short stubby grass was wet with dew, the ocean vast before me, and on the eastern horizon – from whence came a delightful breeze – there showed a pinkish tinge to the gray sky.

I mounted a tall hill that embraced part of the camp – half the men from the ship, including officers, occupied the area that was not covered in tents with their cots and blankets laid upon the ground – and faced the slow sunrise peeping timidly over the ocean, out of breath after my comatose convalescence. The ground at my feet was cool from the night, the sandy soil sparsely littered with straggling grass. I dug my toes into the earth, relishing the feel of dirt against my skin.

"Good morning, Miss Maturin."

I must have jumped a mile in the air. The Captain caught my arm, steadying me with a barely suppressed smile. He was dressed simply in canvas breeches and a hastily tucked-in white shirt – his gold hair, usually neat and tied back, fell in loose waved upon his shoulders. "Jack!"

"You must be feeling better. Is Stephen pleased with your progress?"

"Oh… he doesn't know I'm up," I admitted shyly.

"Ah." He raised one eyebrow as he looked out to where the rising sun tinged the _Surprise _with golden light. "She is beautiful, is she not?" he asked, benevolent pride overtaking his mocking skepticism.

"There is no more beautiful sight in the world, I am sure," I replied warmly.

"Fern…" He frowned and stopped. "No, never mind." A pause. "How did you like the voyage, m'dear? Aside from the battles and your untimely injury, of course," he added quickly, blushing like a schoolboy.

"I like it very well indeed. The sea…"

"You do not care for Her?" he asked anxiously. I laughed at his worry.

"No indeed! She has become as familiar to me as a friend: the roll of the waves, the cry of the gulls, the lonely emptiness that sweeps the horizon with a stark beauty. I don't think I could easily leave it now."

Jack kept his faze out to the subject of our conversation. "It is not so much familiarity as it is bewitchment," he said, sounded as offhand as though he had been giving me the time of day.

I lifted my eyes to his craggy face, the rough manliness broken only by his light blue eyes and, occasionally, his spellbinding smile. "You fell in love with Her long ago, I think. The sea."

"Before I was breeched," he agreed benignly.

"Such a man, perhaps, could never love another woman, once the ocean ensnared him."

He looked down at me sharply, his brows furrowed. "Maybe so."

I did not take my eyes off the rosy lavender fire spreading across the sky, but inwardly I frowned. He was being particularly stuffy all of a sudden. 'Polite'. Why? _Oh Jack_ I thought to myself. _What are you afraid of, my darling?_

"Miss Maturin!" The loud voice near my ear made my jump yet again, and I blushed.

"Captain?"

"I was asking you, do you think you could… have withstood the life of a sailor?" He stumbled briefly, and glanced away.

"Not now, if I ever could have," I replied, "with the circumstances of my birth."

He frowned. "Your birth, Fern?"

"Yes. I was born this way – 'tis no accident of another's." I half-smiled. "I have promised Stephen, should I die before him, he may dissect me to discover my uncanny bone structure."

Jack looked vaguely repulsed. "He agreed to this?"

"I begged him to. I know how curious he is. He can't help it; it's his nature. It is highly unlikely anyway – that I shall die before him, I mean – he is nigh on twenty years my senior."

"Indeed…" His voice was as detached as his physical presence. I touched his arm.

"Jack, dear; tell me what is wrong."

He looked at me, searching me out with startled blue eyes. "Why… nothing, Fern. Nothing at all."

"You were very formal with me a little while ago," I reminded him.

"Yes. I'm sorry; somehow I just thought you'd be… well, different."

"That's a silly assumption."

"I apologized, didn't I?" he said sharply. He smiled ruefully. "It was just so… It was _Hell_, Fern. Your life hanging on the balance very minute. I'm not really sure how we got here in one piece." He glanced back at the camp where some fires were being started and offered his arm. "Walk with me?" I nodded silently, and we walked down the gentle incline to the water's edge, his arm supporting me at the small of my back.

The sand was very fine, and the incoming tide lapped our bare feet, dashing foam gently around our ankles and drawing our footholds out from under us. At first we walked in silence, content to partake of the light salty air and the breeze that came from the far southern horizon. Suddenly, Jack took my shoulders and put my back to the sea. "An artist should paint you as you are now," he said, somewhat wistful, and I blushed. Then he pointed over my shoulder. "Look."

I turned, and my breath caught in wonder as I saw that the eastern sky; it was on fire. The sun was half-risen, ruby-red above the aquamarine waves, through which it made a path of pink light. Gold and purple stained the undersides of gleaming clouds that hovered in the blue sky; I felt as though I had been granted a glimpse of Heaven.

All too soon the sun rose, becoming an ordinary yellow-orange, and I leaned back against Jack with a sigh.

"It defies words, doesn't it?" he whispered, hands on my shoulders lightly. I was about to reply when there came a shout from the hilltop.

"Cap'n! Cap'n hurry! 'Tis 'is Lordship!"

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Gasp! An actual cliffhanger! Heheheheh...

Jack: (shudders) I hate it when she does that.

Stephen: Wuss.

Jack: I am _not_ a wuss!

Stephen: You are _too._

Jack: Are _not!_

Stephen: Are _too!_

Me: Shut _up!_

_HMS Surprise:_ Thank God...


	15. Friends and Allies

French Heart, you rock my world. ;-) Here is chapter 14 (already!!!) for your enjoyment.**

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**14**

**Friends and Allies**

Bonden was dashing and tripping down the hill toward us, terror on his face. Jack released me and ran to him.

"What is happening?"

"Young Blakeney, sir," Bonden heaved for breath. "A shark… oh sir…!"

"Escort Mis Maturin to camp," Jack instructed, and he left at a run. Bonden and I followed only a little more slowly. When we reached the shore of the camp, it was crowded with sailors shouting and carrying on. Some were throwing rocks. When Bonden and I had pushed our way to the front, I gasped in horror. Lord Blakeney was waist-deep in the water, obviously standing on a rock. Jack was wading towards him, a sword in his hand, and an ominous gray fin pierced the water, circling young Will.

Bonden sprang into the water after his captain, a sharp rock in his grip. I clutched Mr. Mowett's arm in terror, my eyes never leaving the drama in front of me.

There was some conversation between the three of them, and then Blakeney made a jump for Bonden's outstretched arms. In a perfect world, he would have made it; unfortunately, ours is not a perfect world. He fell short a foot or so, and Jack sprang desperately as the shark lunged. His sword bit into the gray skin, but it was not a fatal hit. Much thrashing ensured, accompanied by white water being thrown up around them and a good deal of shouting on both sides. Bonden somehow lost his footing and went down, and then Mr. Hollar was wading out to drag a much-shaken Blakeney to shore where I wrapped him hastily in my shawl. Suddenly Jack was under water, and Bonden was holding a shredded arm against his side and striking out with his rock. Jack struggled up from the red water, and felt about for his sword as the gray fin darted between him and Bonden. Suddenly Mr. Mowett cried out.

"There! Another!"

"There's one over there," shouted a seaman.

"And one coming from that side," cried a Marine. I cried out, clutching poor Mr. Mowett's arm harder. The scent of blood was drawing them in.

Mr. Hollar went back out, accompanied by a few marines armed with guns and rocks. Now Jack was standing over Bonden, who was crouching on the rock Blakeney had been on earlier, trying to decide which shark to throw his weapon at. Choosing one that was making for Jack directly, he threw it and aimed true. Stunned, the dun-colored beast drifted into the rock where Jack slashed it wide open. By then the Marines were firing on the other sharks and Mr. Hollar was fending off a thrashing creature with a tent pole while he gave poor Bonden a hand from the rock.

Through some measure of luck, no one died, and the only one with a serious injury was Bonden. In actuality, his arm was not as bad off as I had thought, and Stephen was able to sew him up without having to amputate. Jack had a rather nasty gash on the back of his calf, but it was easily sewed up. Lord Blakeney was shaken up terribly, but I got no chance to comfort him. Sophie, under orders from Jack, whisked me off to her tent and alternated between making me dress and scolding me for going out in just my nightdress and a shawl. Then she sat me down and looked me in the eye.

"They tell me you saved Jack's life," she said bluntly.

"They did? I mean, well, yes… sort of…"

"Then I fear I must make a long-overdue apology," she said, completely to my shock. "I treated you abdominally when we first met, regardless of your character. I assumed you to be stupid and ill-tempered, and it was wrong of me." She stuck out her hand, obviously feeling awkward; I accepted it.

"Thank you, but I am to blame," I admitted. "I believed you to be empty-headed and frivolous; I have never been so happy to be disproved in my life," I added. A weak smile appeared on her perfect face, and she squeezed my hand gently.

"Thank you, Fern."

I smiled shyly, and threw away all my old prejudices. "You're welcome, Sophie."

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All right, that was kinda fast (Sophie/Fern friendship, I mean), but I had to begin it somewhere. My apologies! (Btw, go see 'Amazing Grace' now tied on my virtual list of fave movies with Master and Commander. It is fantastic!) Reviews welcome, etc etc, and ideas are too! I'm kinda sagging...

-DR


	16. A New Island

French Heart, I officially crown you King of Reviewers. ;-) It may seem like you send feedback a lot, but really, it HELPS! Sorry for my lateness, btw; I had a long day. Tech rehearsals officially suck. Anyway, here's chapter 15 - hope you enjoy!

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15

**A New Island**

_August the twenty-eighth, 1805_

_The Galapagos_

_Diary,_

_Stephen is in his element. We rarely see him except at night when he returns for dinner, his assistant Padeen – and sometimes Lord Blakeney – lugging specimens into camp a few minutes later. He leaves very early in the morning, usually before I am up, and does not come back for lunch unless he is near by or remembers to come back; both of which are very rare. Meanwhile, the entire crew is in a jovial mood. The weather is fine, and after the shark incident, none other have come near our little inlet. Many fish are caught, and we eat well every night. The haphazard games of rugby, cricket, and occasionally relay races were interspersed with dunks in the ocean and Jack laughing at his officers for not knowing how to swim…_

"With respect, sir," Mr Mowett said uneasily, "even captains rarely are able to swim."

"You're trying to say that I shouldn't belittle you for not knowing how to swim even though you're on the ocean more often than not?" Jack inquired. His first lieutenant blundered and blushed, and Jack laughed heartily. "All right, that's it. I'm going to teach everyone who doesn't know how to swim. Everyone in the water!"

Sophie and I sat on a blanket underneath a canvas that shaded us from the sun, watching the men at their sport and reading. Sophie was determined to paint a watercolor of the entire scene – she was rather taken with Mr. Donahue, I think – but it was difficult when they were scrambling about all over the little tiny bit of Creation, not keeping still for more than a minute.

"They're so frustrating!" she huffed, bending over her easel. "I wish they would keep still."

"They're sailors," I replied lightly, giving up on reading and settling down to watch the cricket game going on in front of us. "They almost never keep still."

There was a tremendous crack, and the rock they were using as a ball went flying. Bonden raced after it as Mr. Donahue dropped the bat and dashed off to one of the bases. Sophie sighed.

"Is Mr. Donahue not the most handsome of them all?" she asked. I smiled slightly. Although I could not doubt her friendship, her character had not changed in the least.

"I rather think that Bonden is," I replied, laughing when she gave me a strange look. "My dear Sophia, I was teasing. Yes; I think you and Mr. Donahue look very well together."

"That is not what I asked, Fern," Sophie blushed. Suddenly she gasped. "Oh dear – look to Mr. Mowett!"

He was floundering quite hopelessly in the sea, accompanied by half the crew while Jack stood in the shallows in his canvas trousers and nothing else and bellowed at them to use their lubberly arms for Davy Jones' sake or he'd go in there and do it for them, God damn their eyes. Sophia and I hid our laughter in vain at their sodden-rat expressions as they flailed their limbs and splashed about, in danger of drowning in waist-deep water.

Suddenly – or perhaps not so suddenly – I noticed something I had never noticed before. It happened like a flash of lightening, so quickly I barely had time to register it, as Jack turned around and lifted a hand in greeting. Sophia, laughing at him, waved back. He smiled and saluted me teasingly, looking rather magnificent; a Triton, with his damp golden hair in unruly waves around his face and his tanned torso gleaming with saltwater and sweat in the afternoon sunshine.

I blushed as I realized I was staring, though neither he nor Sophie noticed, much to my relief. But I couldn't help it – he was beautiful. It was a silly thing to think, of course – how can men be beautiful, anyway? Nevertheless, I found myself believing it very strongly as he turned away again and heaved the struggling Mowett out of the gentle waves. I sighed. What was happening to me?

_Later (The HMS_ Surprise)

_Diary,_

_We are going to a new island. We shall land soon – it will take us only a few hours – but then Jack is taking most of the crew and some of his officers out to practice their gunnery. They will sail to Chile to send off our mail and trade, meet up with the English whalers in these waters to exchange news, and be back in a fortnight to pick us up. It is foolish, but I will greatly miss Jack the few weeks he is gone. In fact, I miss him already… I really hope no one else will be reading this diary. I would hate for someone to find out about my affections for him…

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Ah, young love! Anyway, come back tomorrow and read more!!! (and review, of course.) 


	17. Pip

Huzzay! Saraserene, thanks loads and loads for your review. And French Heart, you are as always fantastic! I'm glad Fern is a likeable character; I'm trying to make sure she doesn't stray to the Dark Side (whether or not they have cookies!!!!) and become a writer's worst nightmare: a Mary-Sue. Ugh! Anyway, thanks for reading and here's chapter sixteen, in which I introduce a new character of small proportions who becomes very dear to Fern in the future... **

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**16**

**Pip**

_September the twelfth, 1805_

_The Galapagos Islands_

_Diary,_

_Sophie has managed to paint a watercolor of Bonden teaching Blakeney and Mr. Boyle to play a sailor's game of dice, which being a much less active… activity… is easier to portray. I myself am working on an oil portrait of the sunrise, with my silhouette on a hilltop against it for Jack. I did not paint my own features, as I fear making them too pretty._

_We are all excited, for soon the _Surprise_ will return to stock up on water and provisions before we set off for England. We must go now – if we go later, then Cape Horn will be too vicious with storms and ill weather for us to make the journey this year…_

I was putting the finishing touches on my painting when Lord Blakeney dashed in, delight on his face. "If you please, Miss, the _Surprise_ is back!"

"Oh good," I said, folding the painting in canvas. "If you would be so kind, give this to the captain with my compliments."

"Yes ma'am," he exclaimed, saluting and running out again.

About half an hour later, as I was packing my things, Blakeney returned with a curious little monkey clutching his neck. It had an ugly little black face, but its fur was orangey-gold and silky.

"Miss Fern, the captain asks you to accept this golden Tamarin with his compliments," he said, bowing. "He says its name is Pip," he added as he handed it over. Chattering confidentially, it leaped onto my shoulder and stared into my eyes before making itself at home around my collar.

"For me?" I asked, shocked. Surely my artistry did not deserve such gratitude.

"Yes ma'am. He says he traded a silver soup spoon in Chile for it. He also asks you and your brother to play with him tonight," he added before tugging his hat and leaving the tent.

Meanwhile, 'Pip' was making himself quite at home; he was already picking little things I couldn't see out of my hair and eating them. It was rather revolting, but also undeniably adorable to see its wizened black face all wrinkled up in concentration as it licked its paws and smoothed its mane as vainly as Sophia. Grinning, I finished packing, and was just putting the lid on my sea-chest when Bonden poked his head around the tent flap.

"'Scuse me, miss, but we're loading up now. May I take your chest?"

"Please," I said, leading the way out of the tent to see the _Surprise_ anchored in the bay with little jolly-boats going back and forth to shore laden with supplies. The blue-coated figure of Jack – distinguishable by his hat of office – stood on the side, one hand to the ratlines as he directed the work going on around him. Without my knowing why, his presence brought a smile to my face, and I reached up to stroke Pip's mane as he clung, still chattering, to my braids.

_Later_

_The HMS _Surprise

_Diary,_

_We played very well tonight, even though Pip was near-blinding me as he snored gently on the crown of my head, his tail hanging down in front of my eyes. That was probably a good thing. It's ridiculous, I know, but I cannot stop staring at Jack and taking in all his features, good and bad. His booming jovial voice, his smile, the plaintive way he plays his violin. Now I sound like a foolish schoolgirl. I very much admire him, it is true, and he is very handsome in spite of all his scars and disfigurations – his ear, for one! I never noticed it before, and when I first saw it I very nearly recoiled in surprise. He says it was blown off by a bullet in a sea-battle once, and that Stephen managed to sew half of it back on…_

"That is the worst lie I have ever heard in my life, Jack Aubrey," I declared, glaring at him as I detached the slumbering Pip from my head. He laughed.

"It is not a lie either. Ask Stephen."

"It is not a lie, Fern, I promise," Stephen said solemnly as he swirled his wine and finished it off. I scowled.

"I don't believe you. Come here, sir, and bend over."

Grinning fit to burst, he obeyed, violin resting lightly against his shoulder and his bow swinging from his grip as he bent at the waist, providing me with an excellent view of his half left ear. The bottom part was mangled, twisting back to attach abnormally far back on his head. Lifting his golden hair away, I scrutinized the healthy flesh behind his ear. To my disbelief, I saw there the unmistakable marks of stitches long taken out.

"Good Lord, I don't believe it. Can you hear out of it?" I asked curiously.

"As well as my other," Jack replied, straightening with a gleam in his eye that I didn't quite trust. "Else my violin should always be out of tune. Come, missy, we must have some Mozart. Start us off."

"Very well," I sighed, settling Pip – still sleeping! – on my shoulder and bringing my harp up between my knees to play.

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All right, who noticed Jack's left ear in the movie? It really does look like the bottom half got blown away by a bullet! And in the books, Jack does have some issues with his ear in a few sea battles, and Stephen supposedly ends up having to sew it back on...

Stephen: There is no 'supposedly' to it! I really did have to sew his ear back on!

movieStephen: Whoa... where'd you come from?

bookStephen: (darkly) The author dragged me here.

movieStephen: I hate it when she does that...

Me: Hey!

;-)


	18. Revelations

I can't believe we're at chapter 17 already! However, I don't think we're very near the end. For those of you who are like me and love romance, here's a snippet for you to enjoy. **

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**17**

**Revelations**

_September the eighteenth, 1805_

_The HMS _Surprise_, east of Cape Horn_

_Diary,_

_We have rounded the Horn in relative safety. Jack, however, has confided to Stephen a troublesome pain in his stomach where I removed the shrapnel a few months ago. Stephen, being the good friend that he is, did not keep Jack's secret but told me and urged me to tend to it myself, as I was his original curer. I have agreed, though hesitantly. I am no doctor. It was a miracle that Jack survived his wound with as little complaint as he has, and I fear I am not surprised at the pain he is experiencing now…_

"Damn him," Jack muttered for the tenth time as I tried to get him to cooperate. I sighed.

"That's enough of that," I scolded. "Whatever Stephen sees fit to do is probably for the best. Now settle down and stop squirming. What have you to be ashamed of?"

"Nothing! I just wish he wouldn't go spilling my secrets to half the world."

"Oh, for heaven's sake! I am _not_ 'half the world' and I never will be. Now _sit still_ before I am forced to bring Bonden or Killick in here to sit on you."

Grumbling, Jack finally removed his shirt and allowed me to poke and prod him. "You've lost wait, Mr. Aubrey," I told him sternly. "Lost your appetite?" More grumbles. Rolling my eyes, I continued my survey. "It does look a little irritated. Are you scratching it at all? I saw you rubbing it the other day while you were talking with Mowett."

"When it itches like the dickens it's hard not to scratch it!" he bellowed, nearly sending me flying across the room with the force of his voice.

"Now see here Mr. Aubrey!" I exclaimed. "Shouting will get you nowhere. If it hurts or itches or anything like that, you must tell me before you begin to waste away as you are already. Why aren't you eating?"

"I'm not hungry," he scowled. "And it's hardly dignified to sit here in front of a gentle-lady in nothing but my breeches!"

"Ah. So _that's_ what's got you all a-flutter."

"I am _not_ 'all a-flutter'."

"Yes you are, now sit still for the love of God." I examined the stitches closely. "They're probably ready to come out. However –" I forestalled his exaltations "– I refuse to take them out until I've had Stephen verify my diagnosis." He scowled again. I sighed. "So, my dear Jack, you will just have to suffer until then." Patting his shoulder, I stood and went to get my bag. Before I could take a step, he caught my hand and I was in his lap in a trice.

"Say it again, please."

"Say what?" I asked, bewildered.

"'My dear Jack'."

"But…" He raised an eyebrow. "My dear Jack. There, I said it."

However, he did not let me go. My heart pounding, I met his eyes as he bent forward and pressed his lips to my forehead. "Again. Please."

"My… my dear… Jack, what are you doing?"

"Pulling your hair out by the roots." He rolled his eyes. "What does it look like I'm doing? I'm kissing your beautiful, beautiful face."

"But… Jack, why?"

He lifted his head and looked at me witheringly. "Please, Fern, don't play the fool. You know I think the world of you."

"You do? I mean, of course you do. I mean…" I trailed off, speechless as his arms tightened around me and he traveled to my neck. My breath came ragged through my mouth, and one of his hands came up to cup my cheek.

"Dearest, dearest Fern… Forgive me, but I must let you know how much I admire you."

I jerked away suddenly, with a great amount of willpower. "Please, Jack… if this is about… I mean… what you said before, at the beginning of the voyage, about celibacy and all that…"

He stared at me in horror. "You think I'm taking advantage of you?" His hands, wrapped around me so tenderly, whipped away. "If I'm making you uncomfortable, Fern, tell me. I only thought… but perhaps I was wrong after all?"

"I don't know," I mumbled, looking down at my lap and trying to fight the heat that flooded my cheeks. "No one has ever… well, you know. And Sarah never… well, neither she nor I suspected any man would feel any affinity for me."

"No?" he said sorrowfully. "I'm sorry for it." He grasped my empty sleeve, sliding his arm around to hold my waist. "May I…?"

"If you like," I replied shyly, completely unsure of myself. He was only ever gentle with me, though, as he pulled the pins out of my reddish hair and ran his fingers through it carefully. He leaned forward and was beginning to kiss my mouth, mindful of my inexperience and instability, when he stiffened and pulled away. I spun around, still in his arms and in his lap, to see Stephen framed in the doorway. My brother paused, confusion written all over his face, and walked quickly away.

"Oh, what have I done?" I gasped, leaping up and rushing to gather my things, feeling as though I had blatantly broken all ten of the Commandments.

"Nothing to be ashamed of," Jack said firmly, standing. "It looked more… erm, involved, than it was. With my shirt off and all."

"Still…" I hesitated. He crossed to me, taking my hand in one hand and my waist in the other, holding me close.

"My dear, please believe me. Just go and explain it to Stephen so he understands and doesn't hate my guts for the rest of the voyage."

"Coward," I teased him. "He's your friend."

"Ah, but he's your brother," he reminded me.

"Very well," I sighed. "Wish me luck."

"With all my heart."

"Suck-up."

"Never deny it." He grinned and kissed my cheek. "I'll see you tonight?"

"Of course. And Stephen too, God willing."

I left the cabin feeling lightheaded and free. It was as though I were a horse who had been confined all its life and was now suddenly let loose. So this was what love – or whatever this burning conviction deep inside me was – felt like. Now all I had to do was convince Stephen of the same.

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Hollom: _Thiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiis is the niiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight, it's a beaoooooooooooooooootiful niiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight -_

Stephen: You're supposed to be dead.

Hollom: (shrugging) Tell that to the author. (Continues singing)

Bonden: His impression of an Italian accent is really scary.

Jack: Yep. We're aaaaaall gonna have nightmares.

Hollom: (caterwauls)

Stephen: WHERE'S MY LAUDANUM?!

Me: (laughs evilly)


	19. A Not So Comprimising Tryst

Whew! Barely finished in time. I'm going to have to speed things up - this is my last chapter I have written! Anyway, thanks French Heart for being faithful and keeping my spirits up! Here is your next chapter.**

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**18**

**A Not-So-Comprimising Tryst**

_Later_

_In Bed_

_Diary,_

_As it turns out, neither Stephen nor I saw Jack tonight. I have been banished to my bunk for the rest of the voyage. He did not even stop to let me explain! He openly called me a shameless strumpet without any morals and accused me of soiling the family name. I have never seen him so angry, and what is worse, I have nothing to deserve his consternation. How will Jack and I be able to discover our sentiments when we cannot even see one another across the quarterdeck? I cannot write any more today. Stephen's bitterness has put a foul taste in my mouth._

_August the nineteenth, 1805_

_HMS _Surprise

_Diary,_

_My sole consolation in my confinement is Pip. He is constantly cheerful – in fact, I believe him to be quite incapable of any gloom. He is also a constant reminder of Jack, which is bad and good at the same time. I have taken to speaking to Pip as though he _were_ Jack, or sometimes Stephen or Sophie, who is both sympathetic towards me and yet unallowed to see me. My only news of the ill feelings aboard the ship is Blakeney, who is the bearer of my daily meals…_

"Supper time, miss," he said, walking in as I was finishing the mending of my skirt. "Captain sends his compliments."

"I beg your pardon?" I asked, startled.

"Well, the Doctor can hardly prevent me carrying anything other than your food, so the Captain decided to use me to his advantage." Lord Blakeney grinned as he set out the food. "Don't mind if I say so, miss Fern, but I think your brother's a right swab, and so does everyone else, 'sept Killick who dares not venture a single remark."

"What else does everyone think, pray tell?" I grinned.

"That… well, that the Captain should marry you begging your pardon. And a good deal of silly rumors too, unfortunately. Here – 'tis a note from the Captain. I suggest you hide it; your brother won't take kindly to your correspondence." Tipping his hat with a wink, he left my cabin humming under his breath.

"Pip," I said hollowly, "I think we may attempt a break-out tonight." Clinging to my loose auburn waves, he hung upside-down in front of my face and chittered forlornly. "No, my dear; there will be no more excuses. I will see this out or… well, I don't know what, but I refuse to let Stephen govern me like this. After all, it's Benny in front of my door, and he'll let me out in a trice…"

As I spoke absently, humming to him under my breath, I broke the Aubrey family seal – his father was of some stature in the Parliament and in society – and held the broad, elegant strokes close to my face in the dim light.

**Fern:**

**It is very likely that we shall come to England within the fortnight. In the meantime, I think it will be best if we do not come closer until we reach land, where it will be easier to persuade Stephen of our intentions. I am on leave for such a time until a ship comes under my command again. That will give us time to work out the particulars in our relationship.**

**Yours truly,**

**Captain Jack Aubrey**

**PS: If I seem distanced or cold in this correspondence, I apologize. I miss the sight of your face very much, and hope to make Stephen see reason as soon as may be. I love you. – Jack**

_August the twentieth, 1805_

_The HMS _Surprise

_Diary,_

_Tonight is the night. It is now around nine o'clock, and Stephen has retired to his cabin to sort over his specimens and drawings as he always does. I am leaving now; Benjamin knows my plans, as do Mowett and Blakeney, so I will not be stopped at all if everything goes as planned…_

Even at night the ship was not completely silent. There was the constant dip and roll of the ship as it forged ahead, the sound of men snoring, the creaks of a regularly-used man-of-war, the watch pacing the deck, and the seamen on the rigging keeping the ship in order. All of that was above me, however, and the sleeping beside as I crept fore to the great cabin where I could here the lonely moan of a solo violin's lower registers. Pip hung, as always, around my neck, though he was unusually silent. Perhaps he knew how necessary it was that Stephen did not know of this venture.

Jack was laying his instrument down as I entered and closed the door audibly behind me. He looked up, stern lines showing in his face; and then he realized it was me. Wordlessly, he opened his arms, and I rushed into them. Pip gave a muffled squeak of complaint before he managed to escape us.

"I don't even have to ask to determine whether Stephen knows of this," he said into my hair with a bitter laugh. "What brought you?"

"Your letter, missing you, and the knowledge that the crew does not particularly care for Stephen any longer. They're going to Padeen, now, for assistance."

"Really?" Jack drew back and looked into my face. "I didn't know."

"What's wrong? You look… ill."

"It doesn't feel right. The crew's actions, I mean. It's almost as though they're mutinying against the Doctor."

"They are," I said wryly, "but they love you, and with love comes respect; so as long as there is that, no one and nothing on this ship is in danger."

He sighed, his gaze drifting into an invisible distance. "You are very intelligent, you know. Sophie would never say anything like that. Nor even think it."

"I think you underestimate her," I replied, going to the windows to reclaim Pip. "She is like wine diluted by the waters of Society. You should take her to sea more often; you might be surprised what you find."

He strolled over to me, hands behind his back. "I understand you're on closer terms nowadays. Or, you were."

"Yes… when she realized I had saved you, she became more civil, and then we gradually developed a sort of close acquaintance. Jack," I said suddenly, turning towards him as he stood just behind me, "how old are you?"

He blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

"How old are you?" I repeated with a laugh. "You know I am just turned nineteen, when we first left the Galapagos. I know you are as old as Stephen at least."

"I am not forty-four," he conceded. "Rather old for one so young as yourself, I fear, with your young bachelor dukes and earls of the ton."

"Not at all." I smiled and lifted a hand to trace his unshaven jaw. "They are always stuck-up and snobby."

"My complete opposite, I suppose," he ventured slyly.

"Of course." I stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. "Play for me," I commanded, picking up the abandoned violin and handing it to him. He rather looked as though he had something entirely different in mind, but he accepted it and began to play nonetheless.

…_If only Stephen had been there and all was well, I should have been perfectly content.

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All right, gotta go. Hope you liked it and sorry I can't stay to bring Hollom back from the dead and drive Stephen insane!_

-Dark Rose


	20. Captured

Whew! Managed to scrape out another one. A thirteen-gun salute to French Heart and saraserene for being great and positive reviewers! PS: The last chapter should be called 'A Not-So-Compromising _Tryst_' as the title says. Sorry!**

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**19**

**Captured**

_August the twenty-eighth_

_At the Fort-de-Surmonte_

_Diary,_

_Monsieur d'Iray has been very good and has allowed me to keep this journal – only after he had examined it for secret codes, much to my dismay! However, he was ever the gentlemen and did not laugh even when he came across my most recent entries about Jack. I wonder that we can be at war with such kind men._

_Before I go any farther, I'll give a brief explanation. We were attacked around four thirty two nights ago. We took them a prize, and set sail for a British colony in the Caribbean. However, we were overtaken by the French sloop _Défi_, who both outmanned and outgunned us. By some miracle – for the _'Orages _was sadly mauled – the mizzen-less _Surprise_ was able to chase off the _Défi. _Not before, however, I was assisting a wounded man belowdecks and was nearly blown off the ship by grapeshot. Luckily I was not wounded, but in order to avoid the plummeting mizzen, I leaped, slipped in blood, and fell plumb over the side without anyone noticing. A stray spar was near me, and I managed to flounder to it. In the confusion, the _Surprise_ went off for Port Haven, leaving the _Défi _to find me…_

"Et qui pourrait vous être, jeune fillette?" the Captain asked sternly as I was planted, shivering and soaked, in front of him by a rather bossy under-lieutenant. _(And you might you be, young missy?)_

"M-m-m-mademoiselle Fern, monsieur," I replied, teeth chattering as I tried to hide my deformity from his shrewd gaze. "de la _Surprise_ de HMS," I added, hoping he wouldn't toss me to his men as soon as he knew I was the enemy. Sarah had often told me I had a convincing French accent. Apparently it was true; the Captain looked very surprised. _(…of the HMS _Surprise.)

"En effet," he murmured, recovering himself. "Puits. Monsieur Barnet! Trouvez la mademoiselle quelques vêtements secs et apportez-l'à ma carlingue quand elle est décente." _(Indeed. Well. Mr. Barnet! Find the young lady some clothes and bring her to my cabin when she is decent.)_

"Oui, monsieur," said the lieutenant, saluting as the Captain gave me one more sweeping look before he walked away.

"Je crois que je suis tout d'abord obligé à vous pour sauver ma vie, Monsieur le Capitaine," I said, curtseying as I entered his cabin. It was rather cramped; but then again, the _Défi_ was hardly an Indiaman. _(I believe I am obliged to you for saving my life.)_

"Ne pas parler le non-sens, mademoiselle Fern. And come – we will speak in your language or not at all. If there is one thing I cannot abide on a ship, it is discourtesy to prisoners," he replied equably, gesturing for me to take a seat at a dinner table set for two. _(Do not speak nonsense, Miss Fern.)_

"Thank you, sir," I said softly, sitting where he had indicated. "You are very kind."

"A man of battle is never kind," he said sharply. Then he relaxed. "Forgive me. Lacey!"

"Monsieur?" A scruffy man, presumably his steward, poked his head into the cabin.

"Bring in dinner, please. At once."

"Oui, Monsieur." His tipped his head and left.

Over dinner we spoke of mere pleasantries, which was harder said than done. It was rather difficult to speak to an enemy of war when it was all but required that we not speak of the conflict between our countries at all. Then, when the remains of the delicious soft white cake had been taken away, the Captain pulled his chair near mine and withdrew my diary from his jacket.

"What is this, mademoiselle?"

"My diary, Monsieur, if you please," I replied, hoping he would not read it.

"May I?"

"If you must." Lowering my eyes, I played with my skirt while he flipped through the pages, searching for secret British ship codes. He paused more than once, eyebrows twitching, then handed it back.

"I apologize for the inconvenience, mademoiselle," he said, blushing slightly. "I did not mean to offend you – but you understand these things, of course."

"It seems strange to me that a woman overboard would be holding the keys to the British Empire," I replied blandly; but my remark was not without sting, and he knew it.

"I do apologize, most profusely," he muttered.

"You are forgiven, Monsieur," I replied stiffly. "I will be allowed to keep it?"

"Oui, oui; of course. You will let me escort you to your cabin?"

I agreed; though I admit I was sorely tempted to make a remark about being locked in the hold, I overcame the temptation and followed him to a modest chamber-ette with a well-padded hanging cot. As I fell asleep I prayed the Surprises would notice my absence and at least try to find me. If not, how would I ever get back?

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GASP!!!! Who thought this was coming? Muahahaha! :-) Anyhoo, hope you liked it, please... well, you know what!

Stephen: (grumbling) Yes, they most certainly do.

Me: Shut up. As I was saying, thanks for reading and come back tomorrow (late!) for chapter 20! Dumdumdummmmmm!

Blakeney: You sound like Padeen when he's trying to be all dooms-day and stuff.

Me: It's called suspense.

Blakeney and Stephen: Whatever.

Jack: They're taking sides against you, you know.

Me: Unfortunately, I do.

Blakeney and Stephen: (laugh evilly)

Jack: They're also laughing evilly at you.

Me: (sighs)

Jack: What?


	21. In Safety For Now

I'm very sorry for my lapse! Busy-ness mixed with a lack of inspiration and being attacked by an untimely cold has made me fall back a day. Nonetheless, here is chapter twenty to whet your appetite, and hopefully it is not too sad an excuse for a literary piece.

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20

**In Safety... For Now**

_Late August_

_Somewhere in the middle of South Brazil_

_Diary,_

_Who knew how much a lady of good breeding could withstand? Already I have overcome jungles, horrible insects, tepid rainwater, an escape from the French, and now a native tribe. I have been far too lucky – perhaps Jack's infamous character has rubbed off on me. I am staying at present with the docile Kel-hala tribe of South Brazil; two of them speak rough French, and I am able to communicate. More luckily, a woman of American descent is living with them – a missionary of sorts, I believe. Her name is Amelia, and she is rather exuberant in her work with the tribe. I have great respect for her. As it is, she and two other tribe members are to escort me to an English port where I may be returned to England within two months. For now, I remain with the natives to regain my strength after a rather frightening encounter with a boa…_

The French captain had been courteous enough, but he had left Fort-de-Surmonte the day after dropping me off, and the French general overseeing prisoners was definitely not the Captain. It was far too easy to escape the poorly guarded cells, but I fear the jungle was a prison in and of itself. I would have died had Jubi not found me. In fact, I had awoken to find the head of a very-much-alive boa constrictor – the a relation to the serpent Stephen has displayed in a glass bottle of spirits in his workroom at home – and was sure I was going to die when the green beast had been hauled back with a forked stick and a half-dressed swarthy young woman dropped to her knees beside me in the rotting layers of dead foliage with a makeshift basket on her arm that was full of unidentifiable roots. In rough French she asked if I was alright – then, without waiting for an answer, she hauled me up and escorted me for about half an hour through the close forest to a clearing. In that clearing was her tribe, gathered listening to a willowy blonde who was chanting in what was presumable their tongue.

"Amili," the girl explained in a harsh whisper, tugging me between the natives. Their attention, so fixed on the white woman, soon was diverted by the sight of a pale, ragged girl so dirty as to be unrecognizable being led through their midst. 'Amili' soon recognized that she had lost them, and she opened her eyes and lowered her hands to observe me.

"Greetings," she said in very Americanized English. Her face brightened in a smile. "You speak English?"

"First and foremost," I replied, curtsying slightly; I did not want to get on the wrong side of who was presumably the leader here. "My name is Fern Maturin."

"Welcome, Fern. I am Amelia Fergahssuen, but you may call me Amy. You were captured by the French, yes?"

I hesitated, but only for a moment. "Yes, ma'am."

"Don't fear – the Kel-hala are a peaceful people. Come with me, and I will tend your wounds."

Obediently I followed her through the rough daub huts thatched with broad palm leaves, my mouth watering at the scent of something roasting over an unseen fire. My stomach grumbled at the savory scent, and Amelia sent me an amused glance over her shoulder. "How long have you been wandering?"

"I think this is my third day."

"You are from England?"

"Yes… but I was born in Ireland. My brother brought me to live in London when he took a commission as a Navy surgeon aboard a ship."

"Indeed? He is a good doctor, then?"

"The best, I believe. But then, I am prejudiced in his favor."

She smiled, and suddenly swerved and ducked into a hut. The doorways were broad, a woven net of the same palm frond that formed the roof serving as doors; they were fastened away from the opening, however, allowing much light to come into the dwelling. Amelia sat me on a chair that seemed strangely out of place in this primitive, set-aside world, and set about preparing something good to eat. At the same time she asked me:

"Are you, by any chance, related to the famous naturalist Stephen Maturin?"

I blinked in surprise. "Why, yes; he is my elder brother. You… know him?"

She laughed. "Of course not! But I have read all his books. He is a brilliant man."

"Yes he is indeed," I murmured, smiling to myself. "He is indeed."

_Later_

_In Amelia's hut_

_Diary,_

_It is very peaceful outside. The forest is very loud, to be sure, but not as loud as the gunners firing broadsides at the enemy. Besides, the sounds are soothing and natural. There is the soft murmur of the natives moving about outside preparing to go to bed, and I can hear Amelia chatting with one of the hunters. Still, I miss Stephen and Jack with an ache that will not let me sleep, and I wish for the caressing movement of the sea as I sway in my bunk at night…

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There. Just managed to get it out! Tell me if it's boring and I'll attempt something more palatable. ;-) 


	22. A Horrible Discovery

Another short chapter! Many apologies. French Heart: thank you so mcuh for your positive reveiws. They really help me keep going. As to my being French, I wish! No, I cheated and used MultiTranse. Anyway, here's a little peek into Jack and Stephen's world at the moment. I couldn't resist adding more from the book... Sorry!**

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**21**

**A Horrible Discovery**

_The twenty-seventh of August_

_3:00 AM, after the battle_

Stephen collapsed on a chair that Jack had pulled out for him, lifting a bloody handkerchief to wipe his head. His friend stopped him and his own clean one.

"Thank you, brother," Stephen sighed, accepting it. He reflected with a surprise somewhat muddled by fatigue how close battle could bring those whom one had ill feelings for. Still, Jack had nothing but concern for the Doctor as he poured him a glass of Madeira and sat down opposite him.

"How many dead?"

"Nineteen. Not too horrible. But old Plaice is looking to green for my liking – I took his left leg at the knee at the second watch, and it's starting to fester. Can't imagine why…"

"Never mind, brother," Jack intervened gently. "We will not talk about the crew now." He hesitated. "Did Fern help you?"

"She was, for a while there, but then I did not see her again. Probably went to her bunk; and I do not blame the poor child. She does it of her own free will, but what she sees is nothing a girl like her should be seeing." He drained his glass and looked over his gore-spattered spectacles and raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

"I was curious," Jack shrugged, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his eyes. "Ah well." Suddenly he leaned forward earnestly. "Stephen, tell me – how many years have we been together."

Stephen glared at the bottom of his glass and tapped his finger against the side. "Nigh on fifteen years, I should think."

"Then you must tell me something. Do you think I could have taken the _Défi _a prize?"

There was a long pause. "She outmanned and outgunned us."

"Remember the _Cacafuego_, though! Eight years ago she was ours with a good hearty fight, and the _Surprise_ is more stable than the dear _Sophie_. I insist you tell me your views sincerely, Stephen."

The ship's doctor sighed. "Jack, it was only by an incredible amount of luck that we took the _Cacafuego_. Eight years is a long time. Ships change, men change… luck changes." Stephen looked up directly into his friend's battle-weary blue eyes and smiled wryly. "Perhaps your luck is beginning to run out."

Before Jack could make a reply – if indeed he _was_ going to make one – there came a vicious pounding on the door and Lord Blakeney burst in. Tugging his hat furiously he exclaimed, "Pray forgive me sirs, but we cannot find Miss Fern anywhere. Ol' Jannis woke up just now, says she went over the side."

_September the fourth, 1804_

_On the Coast of South Brazil_

_Diary,_

_We are in a precarious position. Amelia and one of the warriors, Ahmben, have escorted me to the coast of South Brazil in the hopes of finding an English or at least American port, but we have emerged between to very secure and very French ports. We are going north tomorrow in the hopes of finding a port that is allied or at least neutral to us. How uncommon difficult it is to be at war, as Sophie would say!_

_How I miss Pip…_

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Wow... that was really short! Hopefully it will be enough for now. Please review! It makes my heart happy!!! (Though not as happy as chocolate does.) ;-) 


	23. Pip to the Rescue

Haha! I have written! Thank you, saraserene, for prompting me on. I have been very busy with a show recently, but now it's over, and I have nothing to until Easter Vacation except write, you lucky dogs. ;-) So anyway, I am VERY sorry for the delay, French Heart, saraserene, and here is a terrible cliff-hanger chappy (please don't kill me!!!)**

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**22**

**Pip to the Rescue**

_September the fifth, 1805_

_Aboard the HMS _Surprise

_Diary,_

_Now is the time to catch up. I sit in my bunk, writing peacefully as we travel ever east, to England and home. Pip is snoring lightly on the pillow. The day I was found was very hot indeed, and muggier than I should care to say…_

I sat beneath a ledge in a crevice on a cliff face, hugging my knees to my chin and trying to ignore the platter-sized tarantula of terrific hairiness sitting ominously in a corner. Amelia was scouting out the area, and Ahmben was finding our dinner, but I sorely wished that they were with me in spite of my hunger and my desire to get to Stephen and Jack. I was sick to death of large insects, arachnids, and bugs of all kinds, and the whooping of the pack of howler monkeys to my right. Their cries chilled me to the bone.

The sun was beginning to set at last when there was dainty sniffing and scrabbling at the crevice entrance. I snatched up the spear Ahmben had left me, ready to defend myself, but it was no predatory feline that slunk toward me through the bushes; merely a small, crouching sort of monkey, a mere silhouette against the blazing sea, set alight from the setting sun. Relaxing only slightly, I kept my eyes on it as it entered, standing up and in possession of a crouch that seemed strangely familiar. I squinted, almost blinded by the sunset, and was nearly bowled over backwards by a warm-furred golden Tamarin.

"Pip!" I exclaimed, delighted beyond words as I held him to my bosom. "Whatever are you doing here?" He merely squeaked in that irritable way of his, reminding me quite profoundly of Killick, and squirmed out of my grasp, darting to the entrance. Forgetting my eight-legged companion, I leaped towards him. "Wait!"

Pip paused only briefly, looked back at me, and darted away again. Determined not to loose him, I scrabbled through the underbrush, lost my footing, and rolled down the steep incline only to land in a deep pool of rainwater. I leaped out, fearing snakes, but nothing stirred. Now soaked to the skin and ridiculously past caring, I quickly found my little friend waiting for me in the dappled shadows. Grinning eerily like a human, he bounded south – to my right – and I followed hastily, holding my sopping skirts up from my reddened ankles and trying to block the blazing sunlight with my left hand at the same time.

It was like gritting one's teeth and plunging into the bloody fray of the sickbay, this running. The sun had long since sunk and the moon old in the sky, the ragged remains of a vicious stitch in my side, when Pip slowed for me to reach him far ahead. I could not see him any more, but every so often he stopped to give me time to catch up. With hardly ever a break and my damp clothes still chaffed my body harshly, making my want to cry quits more than once. But all I had to do was conjure the image of Jack, standing waist-deep in the sea in nothing but a pair of canvas breeches, trying to teach Mowett to swim, and I had an inexplicable burst of energy.

And so, forgetting Amelia and Ahmben and the chilling cries of unknown animals echoing through the jungle, ignoring the occasional downpour, fighting of fatigue and the pain of my long run, I pressed on, often stumbling rather than steadily jogging; tumbling over thick roots, dodging low-hanging branches and blade-like leaves, skipping over wildlife dashing about in waist-high undergrowth and often staggering through miles of human-deep dead foliage, I followed Pip ever southward far into the night.

I was asleep on my feet, and yet still inexplicably running, when I finally tripped over a rather thick root and fell flat on my face in the dirt and leaves, past caring. I was so deep in weariness I barely registered Pip's incessant chattering, the deafening night-sounds after he had gone, and then the sounds of crashing feet and definite English voices. I wept when someone lifted me up and I looked into the infinitely kind face of Barret Bonden. He passed his torch to one of the seamen behind him and bade another halloo someone – the other party hunting for me, I suppose – and he led the way onward, carrying me tight to his chest. I was asleep by the time they reached the camp where the Surprisers were restocking, and so did not see Jack return from his own search, half-dead of a snake bite. But in the morning, I learned that, and much more besides, from Sophie – for Stephen had gone out with yet another party; one that had not yet returned.

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You'll have to forgive me any errors - I just wrote this. Hot off the press. :-) But now I have to go clean my room (grr!) so I'll leave you with the suspense and update tomorrow. I PROMISE!!!!

Stephen: Don't trust her. She had you go FIVE DAYS without relief!

Me: Hey...

Blakeney: Aw, give her a break. A show's tough work.

Mowett: (jeering) And you would know, I suppose.

Blakeney: (huffing) I'll have you know I'm a very profficient actor, Mr. Mowett. Not that YOU should be teasing anyone. I seem to recall a certain incident with swimming in the Galapagos...

Mowett: Not another word!!!

Stephen: Careful, Blakeney, or I'll be taking off your other arm too...


	24. Luck of the Irish

Yes! I have scraped out yet another chapter. Hopefully it will be satisfactory. Thanks to Easter Vacation, I will be away, but I'll try to update as much as I can anyway.**

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**23**

**Luck of the Irish**

I woke in the mid-afternoon, with the sun slanting cross my cot through a slit in the canvas tent. Exotic birdsong filled the forest, accompanied by whirring insects and, more beloved to my ears, the shouts and calls, the wail of the master's whistle, and all sounds human. Then the knowledge of Stephen's absence returned to me, and I sank back, lower than I had been before.

Suddenly the flap was flung aside and Mr. Mowett strode in, looking pitifully silly in insect bites and a vicious rash on one hand that looked to have been bestowed by some form of vegetation. However, his expression was far from amused.

"Miss Maturin," he bowed, "I am glad to see you. Your brother has returned, and he is requesting your presence. He has a broken leg, else he would have come to you," he added by way of apology.

"The Captain?" I asked as I got up gingerly from my resting place and slid my blistered, aching feet into the slippers that were beside it.

"The Doctor has withdrawn the poison to the best of his ability," Mowett replied, sounding as though he were cutting himself off. I raised an eyebrow as he helped me into a dressing-gown, and he glanced away. "The Captain's survived a lot, miss. He's not called Lucky Jack for no reason."

I sighed. "A person only has so much luck, Lieutenant." I held out my arm. "Be so good as to escort me to my brother."

"Of course."

Stephen was dozing lightly at Jack's side in another tent not far from mine, his mouth open in a silent snore, spectacles crooked and several nights' worth of stubble on his face. For a moment after Mowett had gone I simply stood there, looking upon the two men I loved best in the world; then with a snuffle, Stephen started upright and saw me. Wordless, he spread his arms and I ran to him, kneeling at his feet and grasping his hands. As I did so, I saw that his leg was in a splint, and his face was rather gray with a mixture of dull pain and laudanum.

"Fern…" he croaked, kissing my fingers. "Dear God above…"

"We have Pip to thank for finding me," I explained, trying not to cry.

"You look remarkably well," he said awkwardly, as though unsure of what to say. I laughed at him, and he kissed my forehead.

We sat there quietly then, not trying to talk; just absorbing one another's presence. Our companionable silence was broken suddenly by a moan from the bed, and we both straightened automatically.

"How is he?" I asked in a dry whisper.

"As well as can be at the moment, though I fear for him," Stephen replied, rotating his body to lean over his patient; his leg stuck out strangely from his side. "A fever has already set in, and that it not a good sign."

Feeling sick, I went to the other side and set my hand against Jack's paper-dry face. Compared to Stephen, his complexion was positively slate-like; he looked almost dead. The lines in his face were deepened and rough; there were bags under his eyes, and he looked a hundred years old. Drawing an unsteady breath, I leaned down and kissed his cheek right beneath his eye as I stroked his forehead with my hand.

"Fern…?"

Stephen, who had been watching me with something akin to resignation, suddenly became a doctor again, and turned his attention to his patient. "Jack?"

But Jack would have none of it. He clung to my hand feebly and gave a weak smile. "You're alive."

"So are you," I replied, tears clouding my vision to see his vibrant blue eyes, though somewhat dulled with pain, open.

"Not for long, I think, eh brother?" he glanced over to Stephen, who shook his head with a smile.

"I don't know, Jack. I think your luck has returned." With some difficulty, he stood and reached for his cane, giving us a rare smile. "I'll leave you two lovebirds alone. I think Blakeney has found a species as of yet unknown to man."

Jack gave a weak chuckle as Stephen left laboriously. "That brother of yours has seen me through more wounds than I care to name. I can tell when he's past the worrying point." He held my hand to his cheek. "I'll fall asleep presently. Before I do, I have something… was going to give it to you…" A yawn, "before…"

"Never mind it now, my dear," I assured him, kissing his brow. "Go to sleep, and when you wake up you can give me the world."

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The end for now. Please review and give me cause to go on! SOB! Just kidding. ;-)

-Dark Rose


	25. Homeward Bound

Short but sweet. Happy Good Friday! ;-)

PS: There's been som issues with the dates of Fern's diary, so I apologize. We begin where it should be, in October.

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24

**Homeward Bound**

_October the tenth, 1805_

_Aboard the HMS _Surprise

_Diary,_

_It is good to be at sea again. Jack continues to make his recovery in small daily increments, and Stephen, though confined away from his seabirds belowdecks, is as cheerful as ever. Mr. Mowett has taken over the running of the ship, and fine job of it he is doing, too – or so Lord Blakeney tells us. I'll not venture to make a presumption that I know anything about the running of a ship._

_October the twenty-eighth, 1805_

_Aboard the flagship of Admiral Hoyton, the HMS _Loyal

_Diary,_

_We are in Catalonia, very near Stephen's home in Spain. Or rather, we are off the coast – there is an epidemic there, and it is dangerous to go ashore. The Admiral has been kind enough to let Jack, Stephen and I stay in his ship on the way back to England (he is returning after a barricade of some French-held island) while Mowett takes temporary command of the _Surprise_ and follows us. I cannot wait to reach England…_

Some days after this last entry I was sketching a specimen under Stephen's watchful eye when there came the cry of, "England, ho!" from the masthead. We were on the quarterdeck, taking advantage of the sunlight and keeping an eye on Jack, who was getting restless. Speak of the devil; as soon as the seaman's voice reached us, he whipped out his glass and focused it out to sea. A gray smudge on the horizon was all I could see.

"How do they know it's England?" I asked.

"Coordinates, my dear!" Jack cried. "And it _is._ By God, it is!" And he swung me up into his arms in a circle, scattering my work across the quarterdeck.

"You've ruined all my hard work," I grumbled, not unhappy in the least. He knew it too, and laughed at me, a hearty booming laugh that carried all over the ship.

"Dearest Fern, I will buy you all the copied specimens in the world once we are ashore, never fear." He caught my chin and kissed me tenderly. "It will be my wedding present."

"Or Stephen's," I replied with a grin. We stood together and held one another tightly, watching as the land came nearer. The smog was unmistakable. It was England, all right.

Jack's finger traced the chain around my neck that held the diamonds he had presented me with as a hasty engagement ring. I put my hand over his, and would have drawn it lower, but we were extremely conspicuous on the quarterdeck, not to mention that Stephen was watching us from behind his spectacles with the eyes of a mother hawk.

"Promise you won't go off to sea for a good while when we're married."

"I will endeavor to," he vowed. "But if Whitehall orders it, my dear, then I'm off. There's nothing I can do about _them_."

"Yes, I know." I hugged him tighter. "Just try to stay awhile, though I know you love the sea as much as I, if not more."

"That would be difficult," he teased. Then his gaze hardened in thoughtful sternness. "Of course, I could have you aboard; but I prefer to practice what I preach: no women for the hands or officers, no women for the captain. Especially a wife. Perhaps we could dress you up as a man…"

"Don't even_ think_ about it," came Stephen's voice from under his canvas.

"Oh well," Jack sighed. "It was worth a try."


	26. Pippa

**25**

**"Pippa"**

_April the second, 1806_

_Stephen's house in Spain_

_Diary,_

_I am almost too excited to write! Jack and I are on our honeymoon at Stephen's mansion while he ties up business in England with Sir J. Blaine. The port-admiral at Whitehall has granted Jack leave from his duties until May twenty-ninth, when he's scheduled for a small turn at a French island barricade. For now, however, Stephen has granted us leave of his presence and at the same time has allowed us to take over his house to spend our precious few months together…_

"Fe-ern!"

Jack's voice boomed and echoed through the stone corridors of Stephen's house and into the courtyard garden where I knelt amidst the flowers. I looked up in time to see him stride out onto the path in nothing but breeches and a shirt and scan the area for me. I lifted my hand in reply.

"What is it?" I asked.

"It's Pip," Jack replied, coming over to me. "Something seems to be the matter with him."

"Is he sick?" I asked dubiously, getting swept off my feet as I stood and held against his chest.

"He's fat, and he's squeaking something dreadful. Maybe indigestion?"

"Ha ha."

"I'm being serious. Just because you've been queasy… Maybe he got it from you," as he ducked into the house, "or maybe you're both landsick."

"You know I love the sea, darling, but I doubt I'm missing it that much. You _have _been very, er, exuberant these past few days."

He raised an eyebrow. "What are you trying to tell me?"

"Nothing!" I protested as he deposited me gently on our bed where Pip was curled pitifully. "You know children come early in an energetic marriage state." He spluttered in protest, but I ignored him, bending over Pip. I sat back almost immediately and gave him a glare.

"What is it now?" he demanded.

"Pip is not a he, darling," I informed him. "It's likely she found some nice monkey over in Brazil while we were all laid up."

"_She_?" Suddenly he swore very definitely and smacked the window sill. "That man told me she was a fixed male."

"Beloved…"

"Yes?"

"You know you will miss the birth of our child."

He knelt before me and took my hand in his two. "You're saying you know for sure."

"Almost sure," I contradicted him. I smiled. "It's a mother's instinct. Speaking of mothers, I suggest we move Pippa somewhere warm and comfortable, unless you want baby Tamarins all over your bedspread."

"I'd rather not," he said in alarm, leaping up to carry our pet away. When he returned, we curled up on the bed like two spoons, with Jack's arms around me and his breath warm on my ear.

"Promise you'll come back as soon as you can," I told him, squeezing his arm.

"Never doubt it." His lips, somehow retaining a salty aftertaste, explored my neck and jaw. "If it's a boy we'll have to call it William, you know."

"Why?"

"After Mr Calamy, and also a seaman, Warley; Calamy was a young acting le'tenant I had on our last expedition. He died in our last battle with the French. Warley…"

"Yes I know. Of course we will," I agreed softly. I knew how much he was attached to his men, and how hard it had been for him to cut away the mast that was an able seaman's lifeline to the ship.

"And if it's a girl?" he asked, changing the mood abruptly as he breathed in the scent of my hair.

"Oh, I don't know. Sophia, I suppose."

He laughed.

"I was being serious, my dear."

"Oh…"

Finis

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Heh. Poor Jack! Well, thanks for reading and for all your kind reviews! This wasn't one of my best stories, but 25 chapters isn't too bad, and my writing style didn't vary too much with all the reading I do. Check me out in the Phantom of the Opera and the Lord of the Rings sections - my stories there are better. -Rachel


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